


Save Us From Ourselves

by Hemogobbler



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adventurous Journey, Also Me: THE WORST PARTS OF THEMSELVES FUCC, Apocalypse, Blood, Eventual Fluff, Evil GFs, F/F, Heavy Angst, Me: imma be patient and accept s3 pain as a necessary developmental stage of their relationship, Morality system, Murder Kink, Noelle said everything is canon, She-Ra is a lil scared of Catra, Smut, Tainted Love on Repeat, Unreliable Narrator, Virus, and tbh same, but idk, catra's the monsterfucker, corruptradora, cos infected she-ra's a BEAST, cosmic horror, hatefucking, probably the definition of, there's fucked up love there too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:17:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hemogobbler/pseuds/Hemogobbler
Summary: Catra, or rather, her ghost - created from the impact of the true Catra’s doomsday decision - is corrupted; a fatal error in the multiverse.As far as she’s concerned, this means time and space is hers. Dipping in and out of infinite realities, seeing this world and a million more, destroying all of her ex’s alternate chances at happiness?It’s a well-earned upgrade from Force Captain, one that may sate her appetite for chaos and keep her purgatorial suffering at bay.Until one day, when she finds a quiet, solemn Etheria which seems home to only one infected survivor.





	1. Starve

When Catra activated the portal, knowing full well it would be the end of all things, her decision became intrinsically woven into the fabric of space-time. 

Now, her hatred persists, forming a cosmic entity that scours infinite universes, reaping the rewards of her vengeance through the destruction of countless beings across time.

And still, she prefers staying close to home, going after those she knew.

There is no peace for her in treading the same ground, no bright shining memories to guide her on a path to redemption: that treatment is reserved for the princess-types who got her into this situation, who left her with no choice, _ really_, but to activate the portal. 

There _ is _a satisfaction of sorts, a cold breath that tastes like just enough oxygen when she kills someone and frees them from their so-called destiny.

So, Catra has no regrets as she cuts down another Glimmer. This universe will have to do without their queen. She flicks the blood from her nails at her body, expecting her to move, or her wings to flutter. They don’t, so Catra finds a fresh Etheria to play with.

It takes a second. Her tail sways back and forth as she becomes ethereal.

Brushing a hand across the darkness that consumes half her body, she finds the corruption sharper, layered with little black crystals that twinkle and then digitize away at her touch. It spreads, covering more of her right side, having already swallowed up her whole arm and coming for her leg.

She expected it to be more of a dizzying experience--having only half a head--but the only feeling is pain following the points of her headpiece where it digs into cracked, pink seams of light that burn away at her skin and fur.

Grateful for the sensation, she’s sure that it’s the only thing holding her together as she focuses her energy towards another Etheria trapped once again in Despondos.

She materializes on land on some shitty, craggy cliffside. The sun is fading and blood is on the wind; Catra takes a deep breath in and watches plumes of smoke choke the horizon. 

Beautiful.

Catra recognizes it: the outskirts of the Battle of Bright Moon, but something is off. 

It was never this quiet, nor so battle-ravaged, and as Catra gazes down the mountainside to the Whispering Woods, she finds in its place countless rows of stumps stretching endlessly towards the Fright Zone. 

She can almost see the metallic skyline where the purple sky melts into the smoggy orange of home, and she’s certain she can hear the ear-splitting drills that used to take apart the planet as volleys of artillery raced overhead - those real memories came at her crystal clear.

A thunderous step suddenly sends a tremor through the earth at her, and Catra turns from the twilight to meet a beserk She-Ra, her one-time enforcer and full-time crazy ex from another planet. 

The infected warrior looks around, fierce and fast, like she’s lost track of her original target. Catra takes in the sight with fascination that turns to genuine excitement as the monster approaches her.

More blood than ever clings to her garments, which aren’t nearly so ornate anymore. Her skirt is torn, her white-gold top crisscrossed with red and her tiara gone. Claw-marks scar her face, her arms and her neck. Her lip bleeds and her legs are covered in fresh tiny slashes. 

Catra wonders how long she’s been like this, and if anyone at all has survived her wrath. 

Judging from the silence of this universe, She-Ra has been busy.

Her gaze settles on Catra with something beyond recognition. 

There is the usual bloodlust and snorting, the twitching of She-Ra’s lips as they hold back mad laughter, and ruby-red eyes, like runestones, as they dissect her next target, but there’s also a trace of weakness that Catra thought the hulking body couldn’t possibly allow. 

Catra notices it in the way the Sword of Protection, drenched red, hangs low and buries its tip into the ground. It makes Catra smile, makes her lungs fill with acrid air and her mind wander. 

It was genuine fear stilling She-Ra, and it charges Catra’s every atom so deliciously she thinks she might explode.

Had this She-Ra struck down Catra before? Was she now terrified to be face-to-face with a haunting, unkillable shadow of her greatest enemy? Perhaps the First One could sense the chaotic energy that burned in her, a cat caught between dimensions, a herald for all Adora-centric doom, and knew she had failed in her duty.

Catra could barely contain herself: it felt so _ right _ meeting the version of Adora that was just as crazy as she. The wrathful goddess and the black hole, together at last. Catra gives a nervous little wave.

She-Ra charges Catra because of old habits. Catra jumps back and eyes her. She feels laughter bubble up in her but doesn’t let it go, not quite yet. Nothing challenges her anymore, and while this one was certainly dumb, she wasn’t fucking around. 

Catra liked that.

Catra dances around She-Ra’s swings a few more times, each grunt of frustration dredging up a firestorm of feelings. The princess’s anger peaks when the sword ends up wedged inside the cliff-face. Catra is proactive, wrapping her hand around a generous amount of gorgeous blonde hair and slamming She-Ra’s head against her knee. 

She-Ra teeters back, nearly keeping balance, and then falls, landing on her butt. Catra really tries to hold it back, but a snort slips out and suddenly the warrior-princess is much angrier. 

She-Ra screams and the whole cliff comes away as she frees her sword. With the dense rumbling of the earth and the cries of fleeing animals to give her warning, she finds purchase on a stable platform of rock and uses it to slide down the cliffside.

She surfs around sheer drops, avoiding falling debris and nimbly making it down to the flat grasslands that approached the Whispering Stumps. 

When the dust from the rockslide finally settles, Catra looks up and sees She-Ra’s sword sparkling like a bloody diamond in the distance. 

_ She held on. Impressive. _

Then, She-Ra eclipses the rising moons, falling with all the fury of a psychotic meteor and striking the earth elbow-first.

Catra is quick enough to survive being crushed, sprinting from the shadow of ground zero, but not enough to escape the blast radius, which shakes the ground in a loud, rolling wave of force. 

It catches Catra’s back and she’s lifted into the air. Flying towards the graveyard of the woods, she closes her eyes, eager to experience how all this is _supposed _to turn out.

* * *

When she opens her eyes, she finds herself slumped against a tree, with She-Ra’s sword at her throat. 

The princess, seemingly unaware of Catra’s newfound consciousness, is transfixed by the hilt, where the once-immaculate blue gem signifying the sword’s power pulses red. Dark veins hook into its core and overlap like rotten netting. Catra thinks it’s an upgrade.

She-Ra breathes steadily. The sword’s gem shimmers a faint blue. She swallows and Catra can see her mind reeling. To rest, to pause, after what must have been such a long, long time like this - the thought of it was overwhelming her. 

_ And who was giving her such thoughts? _

Catra puts her hand over She-Ra’s, over the hilt of the sword, and, sensing the familiar fight of Adora bubbling within, strokes a finger over her grip.

“_Hey, Adora._” Distortion shreds Catra’s words into sadistic-sweet echoes. “Let go.”

The very essence of her form seeps from her fingertips, cresting at her jet-black nails, suffocating the blue and causing a permanent infection to take hold from the fiber of her own corruption.

Catra gives soothing shushes as the blue light goes dormant. The nature of her warped form shared, Catra feels the connection between them sealed, and the sublime thrill coursing through her electrons that could only come from rewriting a planet’s history.

She-Ra looks down at Catra, reinvigorated. She almost smiles. Her grip goes firm on the sword and she drives it against Catra’s neck. 

_ So predictable_, she thinks.

Time, or, more accurately, Catra, deigns to humble the princess.

On the left side of the sword, by what used to be Catra’s blue eye, She-Ra can see Catra choking on blood in a painful, flickering image of one reality. 

It’s not Catra’s favorite universe.

On the other, she’s alight with laughter. Unfazed, unhurt, and having a great time. 

Catra picks this one.

In the middle, where Catra’s body should be skewered, there is nothing. 

Blood trickles down to She-Ra’s lip.

Catra is suddenly next to her; She-Ra sniffs blood, winces, and finds her nose is broken.

She feels the impact of a punch a second later and staggers back as Catra falls into her chosen fit of hysterics. She-Ra backs away on her hands and freezes up, and when Catra’s done and adequately smug about it, she strolls over and clasps a hand on her shoulder in apology. 

“You already beat me, didn’t you, you big dummy?”

She-Ra is expressionless, but serious eyes tell Catra she’s got through. As she gets back to her feet the princess, on the verge of being able to accept a ghost, takes one last exploratory sword-poke at Catra’s chest. 

This time, she stands solid and swats it away.

“Hooray, I guess. You win!” Catra is all jazz hands, sunshine, and roses--since treating her like a murderous, tall child has worked out okay so far. “Now come on, we’re gonna hang out again, cool?”

Catra holds out her hand.

She-Ra squints, her lips make shapes, and a voice a touch deeper than the one Catra was familiar with comes through after a fight with her vowels.

“Cool,” She-Ra nods, taking her hand and standing up.

“HOLY SHIT! You can talk?!”

Catra falls completely, hopelessly and affectionately into She-Ra’s orbit, grabbing onto the prime cuts of beef that were her arms, the sorest muscles in any reality, and testing her sides to see if she’s ticklish. Catra determines conclusively that she is not.

She-Ra’s eyes dart from side to side and she shrugs, voice failing. 

“Okay, well, it’s a start! Man, this universe rules,” Catra smirks and kicks She-Ra’s shin. “_Kneel _.” 

She-Ra hesitates until Catra sighs and shows her what it means. There’s a lot of pointing, and Catra has to push She-Ra’s shoulders down, but the princess eventually gets it and drops to one knee, evening their heights.

Catra takes the opportunity to inspect her face, wiping the blood from her cheeks and running claws through long blonde hair. She needs a wash, and her breath smells like blood, but there’s no mistaking the jawline, the big forehead and, even now, the only eyes that ever really cared for her.

“I really should be past this,” Catra says with fake sheepishness. “I mean, I’m like a god or something. At the very least, a glitch in this whole life thing… and all I do with this power is chase all the different yous around?”

She-Ra makes a face of understanding, tries to connect with her newest companion, but it’s clear she doesn’t get it.

“You’re different.” Catra cradles her cheek tenderly, playing with loose strands of hair. “I like you. I like your world, your work. You know, I’ve killed _ a lot _ of Adoras…” 

Catra’s voice warps a pitch lower and an octave hungrier as she wraps an arm around She-Ra’s head. With her other hand, Catra traces a sharp nail around and under her jaw. She-Ra lifts her head up in response, her vibrant red eyes shimmering. 

Catra tilts her chin, meets the stoic gaze with one glowing yellow eye, and slides a thumb into She-Ra’s mouth. The warrior is taken back, her eyes going wide, but her tongue doesn’t shy away from the intrusion. Catra finds it as powerful and warm as the rest of her.

“...but I’ve never fucked one before...”


	2. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra comes on too strong. She-Ra discovers fire.

“Do you know how to beg, She-Ra? _ Beg? _”

Catra admires She-Ra’s teeth, running her thumb over gums, further in towards her many molars, and back to her tongue. It flinches at Catra’s nails, who finds her canines are simply to die for. Hot breath washes over her hand as the princess shakes her head, unaware of this word. 

“Of course you don’t. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.” 

Catra kisses her, clipping a lip against her warrior’s teeth. She nourishes the drop of blood between them and it colors She-Ra’s mouth red, who swallows and takes quick breaths. She-Ra knits her dark, prominent brows together in a visible attempt to try and figure out what kind of battle this is supposed to be.

A bloodied tongue meets hers, passing along the taste of Catra. It jolts She-Ra with a sting of copper and dark magic, something old and something new--she loses her balance and falls from a knee to her elbow. Too easy. Catra kicks the arm out from underneath her and She-Ra hits the dirt hard.

A huff of frustration, like a bull, and She-Ra rises with bark chips and ash matted to her face. 

Catra pushes her shoulder, encouraging her to lie on her back, but She-Ra lashes out and the back of her fist makes Catra’s head ring. She falls back against the stump, holds her bloodied mouth, and glares at the crazy princess. Catra feels alive for the first time in eons. 

So _ maybe _she deserved it. Catra isn’t going to hold it against her, but then She-Ra’s switch flips.

She scrambles from the ground, ignoring her sword, and wraps her giant hands around Catra’s throat. Catra laughs dementedly and makes a show of lolling out her tongue even as her air pipe shuts and she feels static dotting her skin all over.

**“Y̶̱̒Ő̴̝U̸͕͑ ̵̻͠D̴̦̆O̸̻͆N̶̞͊'̶̩́T̶̫͑ ̴͚̅G̷̞͝Ẹ̵͑T̸̳͗ ̴̛̯Ḯ̵̱T̵͎͑!̵͉̆”**

Catra’s voice is almost indecipherable as she projects it into She-Ra’s head. It’s hatred, made up of blown-out white noise and the overlapping screams of those Catra remembers. She makes it hurt, makes it feel like something’s digging out of She-Ra’s skull, which buys Catra time to try again - to reset the clock. 

She-Ra looks around, frantic, but can’t find the offender. The frequency shifts into an incessant shriek. She-Ra loosens her grip and starts hitting her head and, then, Catra chokes. She silences the noise in an instant.

“HEY! STOP!” 

Catra slaps She-Ra and yanks her arm away. She-Ra faces her, eyes anxious and nostrils flared. Catra expects more anger--that was fine as long as it stopped her hurting herself--or a further retreat into fear, but She-Ra looks at Catra with the haunting face of empathy. She tries to say something but doesn’t seem to know how to approach it. She holds eye contact with Catra. She points to her head, to Catra, and says:

“Voices.” 

“Yeah, that was me,” Catra points to herself. “You’re welcome.”

“No,” She-Ra shakes her head and takes a swing. “Killed voices.” She points to the dirt. “Dead.” She taps her head. “Here.”

“Uh, you hear voices? Of the people you killed?” Catra cocks her head.

She-Ra nods, and it puts the beat back in Catra’s heart.

“Whose?” Catra asks, enduring a heavy pause before it becomes clear the question is not getting through. She sighs. “You get used to it.” 

She-Ra looks down, presenting herself as evidence to the contrary, and Catra lets herself mourn. A traumatized She-Ra was a sad thing to look at. Pink stitching at Catra’s corrupted skin hardens and withers and soft fur sprouts in its place. Having given something of her pain away, She-Ra stares gloomily at the sword.

“Kill _ sword_? Kill voices?” She-Ra asks. Catra smiles at the gorgeous mad scientist.

“Nah, I’ve been around and that thing’s about as unkillable as me.” 

A bitter taste lingers in her mouth and it feels like she owes She-Ra more. Catra perseveres. 

“Let me help. _ Help_.” Catra touches her shoulder. “I can make you feel good. Relax, distract, _fuck_. Stop me if you know any of these.” She makes obscene hand gestures.

“Stop,” She-Ra repeats, proud, confirming she does, in fact, know ‘stop.’

Catra assumes she’s heard it many times before - in all kinds of terrified, familiar voices. Catra’d rather hear her name howled thunderously through the night, if she’s being honest with herself, and she usually isn’t these days, so the thought sticks with her as she looks She-Ra over.

Catra strokes ash from She-Ra's cheek, but isn't content with how the black smudges her face. She moves in with a lick clean and the way She-Ra gets scared is so delightfully Adora that Catra has to cup her face and frame it for an eternity as a motivational poster in her mind. There’s more, though: she thinks her smile is cute; her teeth show where the corners of her mouth lift and shine out a radiant white, something that could only be explained by healing magic.

Catra wants another taste of it. She thinks they’re ready. She tries again. 

She’s got a better appreciation for her now. She’d even go as far to say she understands. Beckoning She-Ra to sit on the stump, Catra gets off it to give her space and, while she’s reluctant at first, she’s undoubtedly in need of rest and takes up the full seat comfortably.

After a beat, Catra sits on She-Ra’s lap and starts playing with her face. She-Ra’s skin is hot where Catra is cool, so it’s easy for the First One to accept the touch, to relax her back and to rest her hands on Catra’s legs, finding the fashionable rips in her pants fascinating.

It doesn’t take long for Catra to notice She-Ra enjoying her attention-- she knows her fur is soft, her dark markings are layered in pretty patterns just made for running fingers over, and her hair is a joy to get lost in--Catra uses all of it to tame the beast while her hands get busy.

Catra’s ministrations are cautious as she prods the princess’s fine, royal nose and noble jawline. With her black, corrupted hand, Catra strokes the infected veins and uncovered skin along She-Ra’s arms, and finds them boiling. Catra detaches the gaudy gauntlets and moves her body in their place, softer and more responsive to She-Ra’s roaming hands.

Then, Catra’s free hand presses fingers to She-Ra’s lips, who shakes her head, grits her teeth and furrows her brow. The gateway is closed. Her mistrust sends a pang of guilt that takes Catra down a notch - she picks nicer words and puts her hand on her heart.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I won’t be mean to you this time, I̴ ̵p̵r̴o̵m̵i̴s̸e̴.”

She-Ra shoots her a look, and in the war-goddess’ eyes it’s bloody edges and blue steel. It takes time and it seems like she is thinking, genuinely thinking, about falling for her; like this is an epic romance and not a neverending psychotic episode. Eventually, her mouth opens, and Catra indulges, only for a second, before taking her fingers back and pressing her thanks firmly to her lips. 

Catra lifts her mouth, encourages She-Ra to follow her, and when she inevitably does, she takes her lower lip instead. She rotates back to her upper lip - and suddenly She-Ra knows how to kiss, pressing them back the same way, bottom to top. They’re soft and forceful--new each time--highly experimental and wildly enthusiastic. 

She didn’t expect to be so taken with her, but as She-Ra’s tongue fills her mouth - _wow_ _fingers didn’t do it justice this thing is fuckin huge _\- Catra soon loses track of what she was doing. She-Ra is overwhelming as she keeps Catra sealed, airtight, to her lips, and she tastes like an apocalypse most divine.

Looking down between a flurry of kisses to find herself holding the hem of She-Ra's shorts, Catra remembers her plan. She lets the shorts slap against She-Ra's skin and sneaks her hand down them.

“Say ‘stop!’ if I do something bad, and ‘Catra!’ if I’m doing something good, k?”

Catra pulls away to face her; She-Ra looks lost in the awe of a new dawn. It’s cute. She has no right to be this cute. Her skin is pink and her eyes dart to Catra’s lips as she surely wonders if they can do more of whatever the fuck is happening. She keeps drawing her face closer and Catra has to push it away till she repeats herself, and, finally, She-Ra nods in understanding.

Fingers push down, and as they find She-Ra’s center there’s a roaring stream of “_CATRA-CATRA-CATRA,_” while the feline hisses and shushes the horny beast.

“Okay, okay. Take it easy. Breathe.” 

Catra thinks this is the best advice she’s given anyone about anything. She-Ra nods fast, apologetically, clearly wanting more, and holds Catra’s arms tight in her hands. She-Ra looks down at her front and back up to a slow-blinking yellow eye.

Catra touches her again and hears a brave “_ Catra," _ fall away to a gasp when she slips by her nerves, showing her what the stakes are. She retracts her nails and pushes inches into her - She-Ra mouths her name, draws her tight under her large frame, and looks at Catra like she’s a goddess--soft-eyed and infinitely merciful--before resting her head on her.

She-Ra’s flushed, golden face convinces Catra that if she’s this invested after just one spark of relief, then she’s going all-in; she’ll hotwire this ride, take her to the farthest reaches of space and see if a galaxy is born when She-Ra comes. Catra amps up the tempo and pulls a low groan from She-Ra; her volume spiking with each stroke.

The sword gives off a softly beating red glow. Catra feels powerful; adrenaline surges her senses. She can’t decide if She-Ra’s moans sound more like an angel’s dying breath or the gruntings of a mad cavewoman. Catra likes both: the raw animality of her and her once-sacred purpose. It makes her every reaction to stimulation strong and single-minded.

She-Ra’s eyes steady on Catra in holy, protective reverence, like she’s been shown fire for the first time and has been tasked with keeping it alive. One hand goes between her legs where she rides Catra, and the other wraps around Catra’s waist to steady herself. Catra’s fluffy brown tail coils around their joined arms and starts pumping enticingly. 

Catra discovers the legendary She-Ra’s bush is, in fact, as great as her hair, putting an end to long discussions she had with herself in the shitty universes. Catra strokes the dark tuft while She-Ra quivers and pulls her shorts down because, apparently, she likes to watch.

“Catra.” She-Ra sounds breathy, so light she might pop, but insistent on continuing.

“Yeah, I figured.” Catra sidles further up against her until she’s licking her mouth and purring in her ears. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? It… feels like you’re just, being undone, falling away...”

“Power,” She-Ra says, bucking once, hard at Catra’s hand. “Feel _ power _.”

“Power, huh?” Catra raises a brow and feeds in another finger, which must have hit the spot as an 'o' shapes her handsome mouth. “Well, good. Just don’t forget who’s in charge.”

Catra lets her buck again, surprised, taking pride in her work as She-Ra catches on, edging further back to allow her legs to open. She blossoms a frankly too-perfect princess pink. Catra dips in, curling her fingers, moving through her folds and relishing in her convulsions before coming out, slick with royalty. They burn together and Catra grabs a generous clawful of Etheria’s ass, marking her with thin red lines.

She-Ra reaches for Catra’s pants, touching her front and leaving behind a stab of electricity. Catra buries her claws into the offending wrist and stops screwing She-Ra.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Catra seethes. “You _stop_. You wait.”

She-Ra seems sorry for her mistake, nodding and fully accepting that she is uninformed. She strokes her thumb over the cruel hand cutting her off from such pleasures. Catra isn’t as mean as everyone thinks: she resumes the rhythm and rocks She-Ra gently, building up momentum again. She-Ra takes a handful of Catra’s hair and breathes warmth on her face.

“Catra,” She-Ra says, shaky, closing her eyes for the first time. 

Catra gets off on hearing it, especially when it catches in the warrior’s throat, standing in the place of a cry that would be unbecoming of the princess of power. It’s pleading and hopeful and Catra wants to suck it out of her. She bites at She-Ra’s lips and perches a thumb at her clit, eliciting another whine of Catra’s name that leaves them both wet.

“You’re doing so_ good_, baby. A real natural. Does it feel nice?”

She-Ra nods faintly, looking overwhelmed and completely lost in sensations that satisfied a need she could have never known was there. Catra is happy to enlighten her, to show her there are other ways to fill her hunger for violence, ways thousands of times more sumptuous than murder.

Catra sees sweat darken She-Ra’s white-gold top. She pulls it off, absorbs She-Ra’s glory and admits to herself that, _ yes_, she’s a little jealous after all. She has fair, smooth skin, undeniable muscle definition wrapping her whole body, and lovely breasts that sit naturally low and leave space in the middle that a cat could get very cozy in.

Catra for goes for her neck first, nipping at her collarbone, lapping at the sweat-drops that cling to her breasts and watching as a fresh sheen makes her abdominals shine. Catra sucks her goosebumps, her throat, her nipples, listening as She-Ra pants harder at each bit of praise. 

She-Ra is even broader bare as Catra finds herself surrounded by warm, gold shoulders that heave with exertion. She’s close enough to hear whimpers, which goes straight to her head. Catra flexes her wrist and quickens the pace--firm thighs clamp around her hand but do nothing to stifle the sounds of soaked, nimble fingers.

“I just love how eager you are," Catra sings into her neck. “It’s about to feel like too much, okay? But you’re gonna like this.”

Tiny circles rub around She-Ra’s bump, coaxing out shuddering breaths and startled yelps as the princess starts to glow red. Catra is vigorous, and her reward is a magical energy that envelopes them both. She-Ra holds her partner’s head close as she embraces the tipping point, shaking as Catra fucks her into a staggered, dizzying orgasm.

“CATRA!” She-Ra shouts in warning as she scrunches up her face.

“She-Ra,” Catra purrs, kissing the creases away, watching her eyes roll blissfully back and keeping her fingers deep inside her. 

A corrupted hand latches onto She-Ra’s breast as the last waves of her climax recede. Catra rolls and flicks at her areola with the black razorblade of a nail, keeping her humble and gracious as she lies back in blissful exhaustion. Catra keeps touching her, tethering her to reality with tiny scratches and appreciative squeezes, before giving her an ‘I told you so’ peck.

She-Ra is quiet for a long time. She looks at Catra affectionately and up at the evening sky, like she’s high. Cured. Some of her wounds have healed. She touches Catra’s freckles and joins them to the twinkling constellations spanning the corrupted side of her face. Catra blushes, uneasy at this level of intimacy. She pulls up She-Ra's shorts for her, who puts her top back on by herself.

“Catra,” She-Ra says quietly, eyes low, sounding like a shy thank-you. 

“Okay, you can also just say ‘yes’ instead of Catra. But… I’m glad you had fun.” 

Catra smiles from her position on top of She-Ra, propped up on her chest by her elbows, entranced by her striking eyes. She can’t seem to stop kissing her stupid chiseled face, but when She-Ra laughs, genuinely laughs, a bubble of emotion blocks Catra’s lungs and turns to poison. 

She gets off She-Ra, gets off the stump, and holds her arms together. She-Ra eyes her curiously.

_ What the fuck am I doing? _

Catra surveys the environment and rambles, feeling shame whip the acid of her stomach into a sickening whirlpool.

“Alright, so what’s the deal with night on this planet? Does it last like twice as long, do we got a monsters-come-out situation or have you already killed all the monsters? You know what, it doesn’t matter, we should find somewhere to shack up, you’re gonna catch -- ”

She-Ra takes her hand and steps close, covering Catra in her shadow. Catra doesn’t understand why she feels intimidated. She-Ra puts a hand on her tummy.

“Catra.”

Tempting fingers pull at the hem of her pants and Catra flinches. She-Ra stops and waits for an explanation or punishment. Catra gives neither and She-Ra kisses her. It’s sloppy, and her nose gets her in the eye, but it’s a very good try, and it makes Catra laugh. 

“Yes?” She-Ra asks.

_ Fuck it. She's too hot. _

“Your turn,” Catra says as She-Ra grins wide. “Use your tongue.” 

Catra sticks out her own to demonstrate and sits on the stump, working her way out of her skinny red pants. Dark fuzz on brown fur pokes out, and She-Ra is drawn to the differences in their bodies, kneeling at her legs and inspecting her like she’s the one on safari, not Catra.

“Don’t be so weird about it,” Catra says, pink and black and gay all over.

She-Ra holds her corrupted hand and opens her up with her free one. Catra twitches and fidgets as a passionate breath touches the most vulnerable part of her. She’s about to call off the whole thing until She-Ra plants a kiss on her pubic bone and slips her tongue in.

It is _wonderous_. Catra had forgotten how much so. Her regrets evaporate. A pleased noise comes from between her legs as she feels She-Ra sample everything on the menu. She’s intense, devoted, and it stirs up a storm in Catra that forks lightning through her every vein.

She-Ra eats her out like a viking at a mead-hall, rough and drunk on victory, and Catra wouldn’t have it any other way. The slow crawl is nice, but she _needs _this, and, apparently, She-Ra knows it better. Catra snatches her hair and thrusts against her angular nose, receiving a buzz of pleasure with each eskimo kiss that takes her breath away.

Catra is vindicated: it _does _feel like she’s falling apart as the thick tongue carves luscious runes into her. There’s more, though, as much as it pains her to confront - it’s like the most heartwarming assurance that she’s real. It's hard to come by, and she still struggles to accept it. It’s simple validation and such a shattering of perspective that it makes her cosmic capabilities feel like a party trick. 

“Catra?” She-Ra mumbles over a mouth of fur and honey.

“Yes, _ ah_! Catra-Catra-Catra. Shut up and--mm--keep going, I’m thinking.” 

She-Ra looks bothered by this response, and her tongue is accusatory. She strikes gold - Catra inhales through her nose and gets a splinter as she peels away bark. She-Ra holds tight to Catra’s legs on either side of her head, beginning to hum, and the vibrations tug at a knot in her core.

The warrior is relentless, tucking herself so far in-between lithe legs that Catra worries she’ll end up in a different dimension. She-Ra doesn’t give her an inch of freedom, and Catra can do nothing but chase the ecstasy infecting her, mewing defeat and moaning her approval. 

“Oh, fuck,” Catra groans, swimming through her vision to find She-Ra start to stand. “What are you -- ”

In an easy motion that tells her she’s even stronger than she looks, She-Ra lifts Catra onto her shoulders. The rush of air, the altitude and the livewire between her legs nearly make Catra black out. 

She-Ra’s tongue finds her walls lacking and reduces her to a bundle of thrumming nerves as she tries to hoist herself further up and away from the electrifying torture. It’s like being sat on a star--it fills Catra with such light that tears sink into her cheeks and she can feel herself start to unravel. 

“_She-Ra_, fuck, yes, FUCK.” Catra looks down at She-Ra, her chest surging, and convinces herself to let go. “Ohh, you fuckin’_ animal_. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck...” 

She-Ra must like these words, as her tongue kicks into overdrive. Catra can’t feel her legs or much of anything besides She-Ra, and as she endures the rapid climb to her peak, about to burst, she notices something about one of the moons. 

Namely, that it isn’t a moon.

Catra sees, from her heavenly vantage point on She-Ra’s face, Bright Moon’s Moonstone.

Its light is weak and there is nothing to protect it. The peak of the mountain that once made the city so formidable in times of war has been cut away and lies fallen on the royal castle. It’s overgrown now, lost to time. All that remains are the lonely walls of dead homes and dust. 

As her eyes adjust, Catra sees a line splitting the entire length of the runestone. In the center is a hole Catra knows couldn’t have come from laser fire or internal collapse.

Indeed, from the way the black cracks spread, like a spider’s web over the flickering pearl, Catra knows it must have been a sword. A strong one, at that. Immortal, pulsing red with terrifying fury and unrelenting hatred, wielded by Etheria's very own protector and last, best hope for survival.

And that does it for her, Catra comes, a sucker for erotic symbolism ever since she became an outlier in reality.

She looks down, intoxicated with the perpetrator, imagining her fatal atrocities, and a second wave starts to build inside her. She-Ra doubles down, sucking on her clit and taking measured licks along her labia. Her tongue doesn't miss a drop; Catra bites her lip and watches savage teeth surround her. Blonde hair pools between her legs and Catra howls her violent pleasure through the sublimely vacant night.

* * *

When they wrap up, which takes a while because She-Ra_ really _doesn’t want to stop, Catra’s legs are all mushy, so she sits in her lap, intent on getting a history lesson.

“So, what, you a lumberjack now?” Catra indicates to the army of stumps. “It suits you, you know.” She-Ra looks over her work and seems to recall a memory.

“Spi-rits. I kill spirits.” She-Ra growl turns to laughter as she successfully gets the word out.

“The spirits of the woods?” Catra asks, well aware of the nightmares the Horde had tried to instill into its cadets. She doesn't find anything scary about mystical fireflies or oversized frogs.

She-Ra nods furiously. Catra taps her head and points a finger at her, beginning to clarify, slowly, as a smile creeps up on the monster’s face and bares teeth.

“You chopped down all the trees… to kill... all the spirits in the Whispering Woods?"

She-Ra looks proud as she wipes the hair from her face and repeats. “All trees.”

“Oh, She-Ra, Is this love?” Catra purrs, impressed by her determination. She strokes the giant woman’s chin, who leans into it until she nearly topples them both over. “That doesn’t explain the ash…” 

Catra wipes some black from the forest floor and shows it to She-Ra, who says, smartly:

“Fire.” 

“What, you set it on fire as well? Talk about overkill.”

“No. _ Horde_.”

“The Horde burnt the woods? Why?”

“Trap She-Ra. Burn She-Ra.”

“I see it didn’t work.” Catra bets they didn’t count on She-Ra’s eight-foot vertical leap.

“She-Ra kill Horde.” She shrugs like they had it coming.

Catra can see it: Hordak surrounding the woods, keeping She-Ra pinned in the middle by using soldiers as bait and igniting the forest from all corners. Classic Horde strategy could be boiled down to two points: cut your losses, and there’s no such thing as collateral damage. It must have been a nightmare for the cadets. All the propaganda in the Fright Zone about evil princesses couldn’t come close to the reality of staring down an infected She-Ra. 

A thought jumps at Catra.

“Did you kill Hordak? Spooky skull man?” 

She-Ra doesn’t know. 

“Did you kill Shadow Weaver?”

She-Ra doesn’t know. Catra changes the subject.

“How long have you been like this?” Catra asks as the moons grace She-Ra with silver light. 

She-Ra makes a face like she doesn’t understand the question, and then her eyebrows raise. She counts the fingers on her hands, finds them inadequate, and looks to the sky. Catra can see her counting the moons, probably trying to remember what color the sky used to be, and how many suns have passed. 

After a while, she only says:

“Long.” 

Catra gives a sad smile and punches She-Ra’s arm. 

“Want some company? _ Friend _?”

A second of confusion, of difficult thought, and then relief breaks She-Ra’s face from hard stoicism into the picture of happiness. She takes Catra’s hand excitedly. 

“Home! Take you _home_.”

“Ooh, lucky me.” Catra stands up and allows herself to be lead, savoring the security of the big, calloused hand clasping tight around hers. “After you."


	3. Bask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and She-Ra go camping. Catra has the best sleep of her life.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Catra says. 

She-Ra looks for her reaction, poking her fingers together anxiously. 

“It’s... quaint?”

Before them stands She-Ra’s home: a cave bordering the remains of Thaymor. Made up of grey stone encircled with dark green vines; it’s humble, concealed, and more suitable for a bear than a princess. As if to support this, when the two pass an unlit fire pit and enter the mouth of the cave, Catra is greeted with the pungent smell of fish gathered in the far corner.

“Hungry?” She-Ra asks, and before Catra can say something snide about the princess’ lack of a bathroom, her stomach rumbles. She doesn’t remember the last time she ate: she hadn’t stayed anywhere long enough to need to. The hunger is refreshing.

“I guess. One less fish to stink up the place. Any salmon?” Catra remembers Horde survival trips in the wilds, where she first discovered food could come in forms other than blocks of gray, green or brown compacted sludge.

She-Ra tosses her the biggest fish she can find - green, whiskered, and decidedly not a salmon - before taking one for herself and sitting down on the cold hard floor. The weight of the fish is staggering as it slaps into Catra’s hands.

“Kitty need to eat to grow big like She-Ra.” She-Ra dangles the raw fish into her mouth by the tail, bites down, and pulls the bones away clean. She then eats the bones.

“Gross,” Catra says, impressed. “I like mine a little more done than... not at all. That fire outside fresh?” She-Ra nods and picks fragments from her teeth. “You know how to get it going?” 

She-Ra says yes and, taking another fish to go, eagerly moves to sit at the entrance by Catra. She takes a stick, digs it into the woodpile twists it in her hands and blows lightly on the rising smoke until it gives birth to a flame. Catra, apparently, isn’t the only one who remembers Horde wilderness training. 

“Nice!” Catra jabs her fish through a stick and lets it sizzle seductively, a smokey crackle in the air.

She-Ra gives her fish a light toasting, sharing the flame, but can’t seem to wait. She rocks with anticipation as the smell becomes intoxicating. Catra puts her hand on her knee, which settles her, before taking in the sky. It's heavy and still, devoid of life and overwhelming in its totality.

The bonfire snaps as a midnight wind settles around them. The moons glow distant and hazy, white and pink pinholes in the blanket of space. Catra wants to be them, wants her own gorgeous sun to make the nights hopeful. The inferno inside is survived by an unbroken longing; it tears up her chest and finds her throat.

“I wish you had got the stars back,” Catra says to no one at all. “You know, I’ve seen them? Just... not with you. Maybe it would have been worth it.” 

She spares a glance at She-Ra, who looks pained, like another migraine of voices is assaulting her. Her head is in her hands and she pulls at her face. Catra watches her intently, now. She-Ra takes her hands away and looks at them, horror and confusion blurring her red eyes blue.

It passes, as all things do, and Catra breathes a sigh of relief as She-Ra eats her fish and prompts her to do the same. Catra looks back at the sword, sitting snug in the cave, and wonders if anything hopeful remains in it, or the body next to her, and what, if anything, she should do about it.

She-Ra shuffles up next to her, inch by careful inch, yawning dramatically, and drapes a big arm around her. She is safety and warmth. Catra finds it too easy to get lost in this world with such a welcoming ambassador. She smiles in spite of herself.

“Are you making a move?” Catra asks, her voice amused and her tail snaking along the ground to return the favor.

“Uh, She-Ra… I... cold,” She stammers, red face suggesting otherwise as a furry snake coils around her waist.

“That so?” Catra lifts an eyebrow, and her tail squeezes. “Then take me to bed, stud.”

She-Ra jumps at the chance to prove her strength, picking her up bridal style and taking her the full five steps to the center of the cave. Catra is put down on a scattering of giant leaves that are more comfortable than they look, but not by a lot.

“This’ll do for tonight, but…”

_ But what? _

Catra hates herself again, and she's tired of it, but it's so natural. 

Is she really going to go house-hunting with this mad imitation of her best friend? She’s far from the most moral person, but a pang of sickly guilt eats at each second she spends here, pretending like it’s real--like it’s hers--with regret. How long would she keep this up? Did it matter? What else was there?

She-Ra looks down at her in wait, seeming so innocent. Unlike Catra, she had the excuse of being thoroughly insane. She had the right to live this horrible life however she wished, finding enjoyment in whatever she could. Catra, though, feels like a failure. Hiding in a cave, in a dream, in the arms of a lifelong rival.

The princess sits down on the rock floor, having received no invitation to sleep together and lies down at a safe distance, watching the feline brood. Catra sighs and finds her decision made, shame and pity transformed into something simple and protective.

“You know I can’t sleep without you, Adora. Come here.” The name slips out; Catra doesn’t think much of it. She-Ra certainly doesn’t judge her as she approaches with a smile.

She-Ra cuddles up behind her, and Catra is grateful for her new pillow: the crook of an elbow where she can tuck her nose and hold onto her forearm like it’s all the best parts of life, generous and forgiving.

“Now put your other arm around here,” Catra says as she places She-Ra’s left arm around her belly. “You can stroke me but I reserve the right to scratch your eyes out if you do something I don’t like, okay?” 

She-Ra nods seriously as Catra lays her head down. She feels measured breaths, most likely an attempt to give her as much peace as possible, and a nose that parts her mane and starts sniffing deeply. Catra points her head down, which encourages She-Ra to track the fuzz going down her neck instead. It tickles and Catra smiles softly as she presses back against her.

Fingers slide under her clothes and over her sides. They stop, curious, at the fluff that graces her body. She-Ra loves it. She pinches and pulls it, at first, which makes Catra say “stop,” and so she does. She tries thumbing through the loose curls instead, and rubbing soft circles over her belly, ribs, collarbone and whatever else she can get her big hands on. Receiving no protest, She-Ra lets out a murmur of understanding and holds her closer.

She finds Catra’s breasts and suddenly _ we’re getting somewhere_. She-Ra’s hands rest on them, firm, evidently in love with the way they feel. She lingers with them, a thumb flickers across her nipple; Catra draws in air. Her ears perk up and She-Ra starts nipping at them - a shiver of delight tingles down to her shoulders and she relaxes.

Then, She-Ra starts playing her boobs like a set of hairy drums, and it takes everything for Catra to hold back her laughter because she’s pretty sure it’ll discorporate her for good.

“Oh, you big dumb baby. Here,” Catra voice is mellow as she turns to face She-Ra and frees herself from her jumpsuit. Red veins crawling over She-Ra and Catra’s own shimmering corruption illuminate the space between them. “It’s better when you can see what you’re doing to me.” 

Catra takes her hands and keeps them on her chest. Rough hands start rolling and Catra shows She-Ra the result of her work with all manner of divine expressions. Quickly, she’s encouraged to take the lead, and she is a _ natural_.

Motivated, she pulls Catra’s leg around her waist and, pushing her bottoms down, glides her hand over her hip. She-Ra takes hungry handfuls of Catra’s butt as she kisses up along her throat, honing in on the source of a low purr. Catra closes her eyes and lets herself be lost in She-Ra’s radiant hair; comforted by the familiar touch of loving fingers trailing her body.

Catra finds her chin grasped, tilted and led into a confident kiss. It tastes vile. She pulls away from the fishy mouth miasma.

“Stinky,” Catra sticks her tongue out. “No kisses till we brush your teeth.”

She-Ra breathes on her hand and sniffs it; her face creases into an appalled apology. Catra tells her not to worry and keeps them cheek-to-cheek as strong hands find their home. Wandering fingers delve into the jungle between Catra’s legs, who giggles like a cadet and starts to rock against her encouragingly. 

She finds sanctuary from herself with She-Ra--Catra’s thoughts are peaceful and pleased--and She-Ra seems to want nothing in return but the pleasure of making Catra happy. The sword’s namesake may have been tarnished in the destruction of Etheria’s finest, but Catra feels that same prophetic, righteous protection bathe her now in the most heavenly starlight.

Catra craves She-Ra, who knows little else but this fact. She-Ra touches her in a rhythm they seem to share - some harmonious truth that transcends lifetimes spent being at odds with each other - and coaxes her into a happiness Catra almost feels worthy of. She bucks and bites at delicious skin that sends tremors to her core, fighting She-Ra off in a way that only made Catra’s peak come more thunderously charging.

“_She-Ra, _” Catra moans, kissing her jaw through gasps and clenched legs. 

“Catra,” She-Ra hums, proud, stroking her hair from ear to cheek, shaping a crescent moon.

Exhaustion floods Catra’s body as time catches up with her, a reminder of all things’ temporality. She-Ra mouths something and cradles Catra’s head. A strong heartbeat thumps at her ear as she grows warm and heavy. Her eyelids prove too much and she sinks.

* * *

When she wakes up, Catra is surprised to find that she’s not only still alive, but she feels _great_. 

The morning peeks through their cave in misty orange hues and juicy wet grass glimmers. Catra turns a morning person overnight, now bounding with so much fresh energy that she’d break into a jog if she didn’t find herself pinned helplessly under a hibernating princess.

She enjoys it for a moment longer: the breathing that presses them closer together, how she snores like a mutated animal, and how cozy it is to be wrapped up in sturdy, possessive arms. 

The blissful spell is broken by a metallic screech that almost rouses She-Ra and puts Catra’s head on a swivel. She only gets a glimpse, a flash of purple light retreating on spider legs, but it’s all she needs. Catra's eyes pop.

It’s a bot, and more than that, it’s her favorite bot. From how loud she is, and the way her left leg sticks in her walk cycle, Catra knows for sure: it’s Emily. 

Catra takes no time to evaluate her curiosity. She wants information, and Emily is a library on legs. After a struggle to escape from She-Ra, Catra screams:

“MOVE!”


	4. Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra indulges in her corruption. She-Ra does her thing.

Still disoriented from her sudden awakening, Catra’s head pounds. She runs and runs until she can’t feel her legs. It feels like a strong wind could cast her off the ground into eternity, but the detritus of the forest floor stabs into her bare feet and she’s back.

Something tells her she should stop, that it’s pointless anyway, but she’s a bad listener.

The stillness of this world has been broken by a sign of life. Artificial, but somehow more substantial than She-Ra’s presence. More compelling.

They chase Emily down as Catra’s mind overheats, tempted by answers she doesn’t need.

She uses time, twisting individual frames of reality into outcomes where Emily loses traction with the grass or collides into a tree, but Emily adapts while Catra grows dizzy. The Horde-bot’s legs retract and she rolls at a high speed, knocking from obstacle to obstacle, a screaming pinball.

Catra can leave, disappear entirely, but cannot manipulate the world she inhabits for longer than a few seconds at a time. Her nose bleeds and she glitches into a stumble as Emily gains ground. Dirt sticks in her nails as she curses Entrapta’s genius.

She-Ra overtakes Catra, who screams at her to put her sword down. The princess listens, and is all the faster for it, dropping her sword and charging through a brush out of sight. Catra picks it up and, still unconvinced, spares one last shout:

“DON’T KILL HER!”

It rips from her throat painfully, and she breaks into a coughing fit. It’s unusual: her lungs haven’t burned in so long. When she regains herself, there is nothing and no-one. Colors fade. Silence comes, and then darkness. The sword appears, and by the glow of its constant red beating, a vision is shaped.

Catra sees Scorpia, crawling on her knees, repeating ‘_DON’T_’ in a feverish nightmare. She’s never looked so scared, nor so angry. She coughs up blood. Crimson veins keep Catra’s eyes pulled open, intersecting her vision. Scorpia locks eyes with her, scowls, and charges.

The picture distorts; light cuts through the dark; she sees fresh green grass and feels real air again. For her troubles, an inch of corruption across her cheek reverts to skin and fur. It is tender and exposed, but there, true as can be. She pants, regaining her nerve.

The panicked whine of Emily gives Catra substance, the kick in the ass she needs to find her composure and start running. She breaks through the brush on fresh feet, burning with adrenaline and full of mortal anxiety, and, just as quickly, stops dead in her tracks.

The Heart-Blossom - Plumeria’s runestone and resident supertree - stands before her.

How long had she been running? She was _just_ in Thaymor.

Her attention returns to the tree as she steps towards it. Its leaves are gone, branches skeletal, and, at its core--where once a pink glow promised an abundance of spring--it is hollow.

The stone is gone. All around it, life has withered into cursed ground and frozen seedlings.

Yurts and tents once belonging to the agricultural kingdom’s people have been buried or taken over by foolhardy animals, and all that remains of the homes fixed to trees is rotting wood and ghostly whispers. The smell of ash from the Whispering Woods, and something else, acidic, lingers.

Catra finally notices, at the base of the Heart-Blossom, She-Ra hunched over the frame of Emily. Nails draw blood from her palms as Catra loses it.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I SAY? YOU _STUPID_ \-- ”

She-Ra turns to face her, confused, and Catra trails off. Arrows pepper Emily’s body, penetrating armor and circuitry. She’s covered in rust and Catra watches as the purple light of her eye blinks away for good. Her death rattle sounds as though she’s disappointed with herself: a jangle of loose bolts and a low-pitched moan.

“She-Ra…” She-Ra begins, fretting. “I… I didn’t…”

A sliding hatch opens in Emily’s torso. Catra shivers, and approaches. Her ears twitch. A man’s voice resounds through the decrepit forest before she can get any closer.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE BOT, DROP THE SWORD, AND LEAVE THIS PLACE!”

Catra looks up and sees a light-footed archer poised on a fragile tree-branch. He has dark skin, but his black hair is long and time has sunk into his face, sagging his cheeks and making his eyes bleak. He wears a ragged green top that covers his midriff.

It isn’t Bow. Catra breathes a sigh of relief. That could’ve been awkward.

She smiles at him and he returns a horrified stare, drawing his string back further as others emerge from behind trees, brandishing swords, spears, and shields, all wearing the same look of defeat. They wield them like amateurs, which is disappointing. Catra counts four on the ground and only the one archer.

She-Ra starts breathing heavily and looks to Catra for her sword back. She grits her teeth and keeps clenching her fists like she’s squeezing an imaginary stress-ball.

“GO! NOW! AND TAKE THE MONSTER WITH YOU!” He shouts; ravens flee from his cover.

She-Ra’s nails tear the skin along her leg, her breathing becomes furious, and her teeth -- oh gods, those divine teeth -- bare bloody promises of death, hysterical and absolute. She’s itching to go, and it’s frankly a miracle that she chooses to remain by Catra’s side instead.

Catra strokes her hand, shushes and calms her, mouths wait and addresses the survivors.

“Is that any way to greet a guest in your lands? Do you know how _LONG_ I’ve traveled to be here? You Plumerians are supposed to be all so welcoming and nice. Where’s my party?”

“Plumeria is dead. She killed her.”

The archer points at She-Ra. A pale woman with short, greying blonde hair and a chipped sword glowers at them. The other three on the ground are pitiful. Catra can barely make out any details, they're so cowardly and overgrown with unwashed hair.

“I WILL NOT SAY IT AGAIN! LEAVE!” The archer yells, the branch beneath him creaks as he balances on one knee, but he holds the pose aptly.

Catra holds her hands up. She misses this. The tension is delightful.

“Hey, hey, she seems chill right now, yeah?” Catra pats She-Ra’s arm. “I can change that. And believe me, tough guy, I would _love_ to watch you hang from that branch… an oversized sword in your chest, a vine wrapped tight around your neck…” She licks her lips. “...Using you for target practice, as you did with this bot.”

“STOP IT!” The pale woman with a sword steps forward and the others back her up. There are tears in her eyes and the weapon shakes in her hands. She-Ra growls at them and they flinch in unison. None of these fools were fighters, but Catra would turn them.

“SHUT UP! I _LIKED_ THAT BOT. I liked it a hell of a lot more than I like any of you.” Catra addresses the archer. “_You_ should’ve put an arrow through my head the second you saw me. Do you know how rare it is someone gets the drop on me? You must be pretty sneaky.”

He doesn’t take the compliment. Catra breathes in their fear and continues to perform.

“But ya didn’t. So you’re not gonna kill us. Not that you’d have a chance. I can tell you how this ends: every one of you loses something--an arm, an eye, your head, maybe--and dies a slow, agonizing death.”

She lets them take it in and waits on an arrow.

“So now that I’ve got your attention, all I want to know is how she ended up like this…” Catra tries to put an arm around She-Ra but is too short. “And if you dumbasses are all this world’s got for me.”

Catra relishes their disgust, can feel them switching to her as their target, and the archer prepares to speak. He lowers his bow. The others look to him in worry, in deference and respect. Catra wants him.

“I know not how you control her. Nor do I wish to know. I give you what little information I have so that you may leave us in peace. She is the Horde’s greatest weapon and ultimate destruction. She is the downfall of nations, of princesses across Etheria, of the tyrant Hordak. She has taken everything from us in the guise of being our prophesied protector. Our lives have been consumed entirely by her unrelenting rampage. I awake every morning in fear that she has finally found us... my family. Please...”

His voice breaks and Catra notices the pale woman staring at him with something more than respect. Her grip on the sword is weak. They are weak.

“Please, we have nothing for you. If you have any compassion, anything like a soul, you’ll leave us alone.”

Oh, Catra is buzzing at that. This dude’s almost as good a performer as she is. He uses all the right words and speaks with the weight of a man who has suffered his whole life and expects little else to follow. He’s right on the money.

“That’s it?” Catra scoffs. “That’s all you got for me? Shit, I got all that from her,” She elbows She-Ra. “...and she can barely speak! Doesn’t wax poetic about how shitty her life is, either. You sad sacks. Are there more of you? You got a little underground paradise I don’t know about?”

They say nothing, and Catra grins.

“Thought so. Plumerians might be frail, but they’re resourceful, and they sure do love dirt. So, what, secret rock, hollowed-out tree? I’ll find it, you know. Are you gonna invite me in?”

“Please,” The woman begs. “Please.” Catra pouts at her.

“Come on, I can play well with others.” The woman keeps pleading, falling to her knees. “Oh, jeez, really pulling my arm with the eyes and the please-please-please so…” Catra hums. “Okay!”

The forest breathes; She-Ra narrows her eyes; the ravens return and circle.

“You can go. We’ll leave your digs alone. Only one of you has to die.”

“_What?_” The archer draws his bow. A fresh wave of despair comes; they all take a step back.

“What? It’s reasonable enough. You guys know you aren’t going to win this. My girlfriend needs to kill someone and I don’t want it to be me. Just a little sacrifice, c’mon. She is a goddess.”

“You evil, heartless demon,” The archer seethes.

“Here I was thinking you’d volunteer. All bark and no bite, huh?”

“Someone has to stand up to you!” He yells, a sucker for pride, and nocks an arrow.

Before he can send it flying, the greying woman puts herself in front of Catra.

“Take me! Just - just quick--please--and let everyone else go,” She chokes up.

“NO! DON’T! TIPANIE!” The archer screams.

“Aw,” Catra croons and inspects the woman. Dirty, but brave. “You’ll do.”

The other woman and two men hiding behind their shields cower in stunned silence. Catra passes She-Ra the sword.

“All yours, baby.”

She-Ra grasps the sword and looks at her victim. There is a long, painful hesitation punctuated by wailing and sniffles as she covers her eyes. She-Ra cocks her head in confusion, and then she slowly raises her blade.

An arrow hits her shoulder, and another gets her hand fast, disarming her. The pale woman looks even more terrified, apologetic even, as She-Ra growls and puts her hands around her throat.

“Shame,” Catra shrugs at the roll of her fluttering eyes and breaks off into a sprint towards the Heart-Blossom.

She clambers up half-way in seconds, clawing away one incoming arrow, digging into the bark and climbing around the back of the tree. Then, as she lines herself up to have her head punctured, she blinks, the arrow misses, and her nails are in the archer’s neck.

“You chose this,” Catra says.

His hands hold his throat while his eyes still plead. Corruption claims Catra’s right leg, white-hot pinpricks dotting black skin. She lets his body fall to the earth and sits down to watch She-Ra wreak havoc below.

Tipanie lies dead. A man charges She-Ra with a shield raised to protect the spearman behind him. She swats the shield away and her fist collides with the shield-bearer’s head. A loud, wet thwack accompanies a jettison of blood and he goes down instantly.

Catra gasps, touches her tongue to her fangs, and a hand goes between her legs.

The spearman pierces She-Ra’s side, who screams as she clamps either side of his face and headbutts him to the ground. She pulls the spear out, enraged. Before she can take revenge, the remaining woman with a sword gets a glancing blow across her back. She-Ra deflects a second strike with her gauntlet, sending a ping reverberating through the forest, and forces the woman down onto the spear. She discards them both.

Catra covers her mouth and bites her tongue, growing hot.

The spearman crawls away on the floor, and it's pretty sad. His face bleeds from the rollicking headbutt and he mumbles his last prayers over a mouthful of teeth. She-Ra stomps him, over and over, and while Catra’s sure he’d end up as mashed potatoes soon enough, she thinks the sword deserves a taste, too.

She whistles to get She-Ra’s attention and directs her to it. She-Ra nods, picking it up and twirling it in her hand before bringing the blade down to finish him off. Catra purrs, and it takes everything she’s got to hold herself back from finishing as it enters his body.

“HELL YEAH! That’s my girl! Now I get the whole princess of power thing, that was--that was fucking amazing!”

Catra chants She-Ra’s name as she climbs down the tree and approaches her very bloody best friend. She notices the hole in her side and winces.

“Oh… oh, baby. I - I should’ve helped you, maybe, but... you’ll be okay?”

She-Ra nods like this isn’t the first time it’s happened and it’s not going to be the last. Skin has already started to stitch itself back together, though the blood is endless. She holds back the flow and her eyes are vacant as she goes around poking all the bodies with her sword.

“What’s wrong?” Catra asks, tingling, sticking to her side more than ever.

“Puny,” She-Ra says, grim. “No fight.”

“Yeah, well, hate to break it to you but you’re gonna struggle to find a challenge with...” Catra motions to her incredible size. “...this whole situation you got going on.”

“No fight,” She-Ra repeats. She walks over to the archer’s body and picks up his weapon. She pauses and stares at it longingly. “Bow...”

Catra watches her. She-Ra takes up a shooting stance and pulls the string back. She lets it go, turns the weapon over, and snaps it over her leg. She then holds her sword horizontally and closes her eyes. In a flash, she creates the Bow of Protection. Catra squeals and pounces on She-Ra, who drops her weapon to catch the feline.

“You did it!” Catra is electric. “I’m so proud of you!” She kisses her face all over. “Mmm… and you know what else?” She leans in, slow, from She-Ra’s cheek to her ear and breathes hot, “_I’m wet_.”

She-Ra looks at her with a frown, and it really kills the mood.

“No fight!” She-Ra says, and this time, it sounds like she’s angry. Her eyes flicker a glassy blue as her head backs up.

Fuck. Catra knows what that means. She turns on the charm instead of herself. She sighs and breathes deep.

“You once told me…” Catra begins, peering deep behind her eyes. “...None of this is real. I don’t believe you, Adora. I think you know this is real, in some way. If you can’t face the truth, then you give me her back.”

She-Ra furrows her brow as her eyes fog with red mist. Catra strokes her cheek.

“And hey. They attacked us. You _protected_ us.”

Catra strokes her golden hair, twisting it tenderly behind her ear. Smooth, it reminds her of so much. She looks at She-Ra with genuine love, powerful enough to overwhelm the sick smell of carnage, and it seems to soften her. She-Ra returns the touch and her anxious face shifts into a sad smile.

“I love you,” Catra twists the knife, and the blue is completely gone. “...you dummy. Think I’m gonna let these dipshits threaten us?”

She-Ra’s eyes are watery and Catra doesn’t know how to feel about that. But She-Ra grins her goofy evil grin and gives Catra a fierce smooch.

“Love,” She-Ra savors the word, and practices until she gets it right. “Love you. _I_ love you.”

Catra unwinds in her arms and kisses her valiant hero as she’s carried towards the Heart-Blossom. This had turned into a day, and she relished the comfort of She-Ra’s arms. They had sleep to catch up on, and Catra was just dying to go down on her. She looks at the gaping hole in the tree and asks, just to be sure:

“You didn’t… like, _eat_ the Heart-Blossom, did you?”

She-Ra shakes her head. Catra doesn’t care too much. It’s another lost, unanswered question as they reach the lifeless, metallic spider. _Oh, right._

In the thrill of it all, Catra had forgotten about Emily.

She-Ra puts her down and Catra immediately reaches into the hatch. It’s sharp as all hell but this isn’t the first time Catra’s had her hand inside Emily. There’s something small, square and detachable in the very center. Catra snatches it up and inspects it.

“A disk…” Catra flips it around her fingers like a poker chip. “Huh.”

She-Ra stares at her blankly. Catra laughs. She didn’t believe in fate or destiny but this was pretty damn convincing.

“Well, only one place I know that’s got the tech to play this. Let’s go see if our old bunk is still standing. Maybe knock some bedsprings loose if you know what I'm sayin',” She winks and nudges She-Ra, but the simple smile she wears tells Catra she hasn't a clue.

Nonetheless, she’s eager to take her hand and stroll into the Fright Zone as if it’s not the most dangerous place on Etheria.

Catra figures that, together, they’re more dangerous than anything this world could throw at them. She’s going to enjoy ruling it. One day they’ll kill everything on Beast Island and fuck on the back of a dragon. For now, she’s content with tenderly holding She-Ra’s wound, pulling off her skirt, and showing her gratitude.


	5. Learn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra explores uncharted territory. She-Ra discovers a new configuration for her sword.

She-Ra tastes like the first bite of an apple. How had it taken Catra so long to get around to this? She had been selfish. Now, she tries to make up for it with her tongue, giving She-Ra all the praise and devotion her royal pussy deserves. 

Catra kneels at her altar, pressing her nose through She-Ra’s folds and keeping her pinned, trembling, against the Heart-Blossom. Sensitive, but growing confident and louder with each stroke of pleasure, trusting completely in Catra’s handling of her only weakness, she pulls up her top to fondle herself and roughly grabs her lover’s mane. 

The princess forces Catra’s servitude, bringing her deeper inside with a strong, impatient hand. Catra burns with need: she relishes the treatment and is so proud of her that she hardly notices a sudden lack of oxygen. Honestly, if she couldn’t get her off before she blacked out, what did that say about Catra? That she didn’t deserve the air - and she moans at the thought, redoubling her efforts with a hum and an added finger as she drowns in pleasure.

“Catra! _ Yes,_” She-Ra gasps sharply and her grip loosens a touch. 

It buys Catra time to bury hickeys between her thighs, along the sides of her slit, and in the holy land of her glorious bush. She looks up to see She-Ra biting her lip, who reaches down to softly cradle her face. She-Ra looks sorry, like she desperately wants to kiss her but needs to be taken by this rapture more. Catra understands. She kisses She-Ra’s fingers and puts the hand back in its place behind her head. It explores her hair as Catra kisses and sucks She-Ra's clit, appreciative, and then she tries something new. 

Her hands take hold of She-Ra’s butt with a slap. _ Fuck it’s so toned what the hell. _ Catra can feel her firm cheeks clenching in time with each stroke of her tongue. She spreads them apart and traces her rim with her favorite intrepid explorer: her right middle finger. It's still moist from She-Ra’s arousal, and she takes in air but gives no sign of protest as Catra begins working her way into the untapped potential of her juicy ass.

Catra twists the tip of her finger while keeping She-Ra’s butt as wide as her ridiculously hunky glutes will allow. As the penetration becomes real, powerful thighs clamp dangerously tight around Catra’s head. She taps She-Ra’s legs rapidly, fretful, and the goddess answers her prayers, releasing her from what surely would be Catra’s first choice in ways to die.

“Sorry! Sor--AH!” She-Ra yelps as Catra probes her further, punishingly.

This time She-Ra’s in control, keeping Catra’s head secure as the digit working its way through her sways her into a rhythm forward, where she takes in Catra’s heavenly tongue, and back around a deeply satisfying finger until she’s completely full. Or so Catra thinks. 

“More,” She-Ra begs. “Please. Please, more!”

Catra raises an eyebrow and a devilish grin breaks across her face, planting fangs on either side of She-Ra’s clit as she licks in quick circles. She adds another finger to her backside and splits them apart as she pushes in and out, over and over, until heavy breathing and her flexing core tell Catra she’s close. She-Ra holds her face, runs a hand through sweaty hair, and mouths Catra’s name. Catra purrs and knows the vibrations must be the cherry on top of all her other sublime attentions.

She-Ra, a celestial body on the verge of destruction, meets Catra’s eyes, and, panting, screaming, breaking apart - she endures it blissfully. Her hips rock until Catra gets whiplash, but she perseveres until every inch is lapped clean, because, _ now,_ she thinks, she’s earnt it.

Catra laughs as she leaves She-Ra’s labia with a kiss, and then plants more all up on her miraculously strapping body until she's on her tippy-toes and smooching her neck. 

“_Ohh, _She-Ra, She-Ra, my dirty little princess,” Catra sings and pats her bum. “You really enjoyed that, huh?”

She-Ra nods and before Catra can say something snarky or sexy or both, a tongue enters her mouth and she’s taken to the ground. Large and slick, it goes down her throat and muffles her delighted moan as hands track her body’s lithe curves.

Catra wants She-Ra to rip away her only pair of clothes, but even amidst untamed desire, she’s too damn considerate, pulling her jumpsuit carefully down, around her shoulders to expose her breasts and nipples as Catra wiggles out of her bottoms, all the while never leaving her lips. She-Ra would probably fold her clothes for her, too, if she wasn’t so desperate to return the sexual favors.

She-Ra finds Catra soaked, burrowing her two big fingers deep, deep inside in a flash. She hits her core and Catra squeals. 

“Oh fuck - fucking, _ oh,_ _She-Ra, _yeah...” 

The relief is instant, a divine discharge so needed after staying wet for so long, but _ fuck was it worth it_. Catra can already see her end in sight, can practically feel the first wave of her orgasm before She-Ra’s thumb starts prodding at her anus.

“WOAH! STOP! No! Stop!” Catra shakes her head furiously and pushes her back.

She-Ra stops, alarmed, apologetic, fearful.

“Uh, I - I don’t know if I want to do that. It’s just not--not something I’m ready for. I’m - I’m not gonna like it, I don’t think, I...” Catra rambles, flushing red. God, how is _ she _ the prude now? 

“Okay, okay. I sorry,” She-Ra says. “Only here?” She hovers a hand over her groin.

“Yeah, but...” Oh, Catra is a genius. “If you wanna switch it up, I’ve got an idea. Your sword…” 

She-Ra picks it up and looks at Catra in horrified disgust. 

“Bad idea,” She-Ra says.

“No, you dumbass! I’m not gonna get you to fuck me with a sword. Well - well, I am, but… just… trust me. Put it between your legs.”

She-Ra reluctantly follows Catra’s instructions, awkwardly shifting a leg over the blade until it resembles the most terrifying phallus in Etheria. It hums with power, and Catra touches its edge, curious as to the possibilities within.

“I want you to imagine it like it’s something that you can wear… something that sticks out from your legs like it is now. Something long and rounded at the end, that’ll fit inside me, something that’s yours… and, I dunno, maybe some ridges or something?” 

She-Ra furrows her brow, closes her eyes, and breathes slowly. The sword dangles obscenely beneath her legs, but Catra enjoys the rest of her just fine: naked, ripped as all hell, and--if she’s lucky--She-Ra’ll be using those muscles to pound her into a drooling frenzy soon enough. 

Intense, golden light spills out from She-Ra’s legs. It weaves through the air to form a bulky, golden-white rod attached to a blue harness that clings tightly around her buns. It has an enlarged head and is ribbed along the shaft. Beautiful, and much bigger than Catra would have expected, but she likes the confidence - and knows She-Ra isn’t overcompensating for anything.

“I can’t believe that worked!” Catra exclaims, taking hold of it and testing its weight. It’s some kind of magical silicone, firm but balanced. It tastes like peaches and cream. “_Nice. _You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” 

She-Ra smiles and shrugs. Catra gives the head a kiss, circles it with her tongue to smother it in saliva, before laying on her back and opening herself up with her fingers. Moisture makes her vulva glisten, and the burning returns in full force at the sight of She-Ra hunched over her with the Strap of Protection ready to go. 

“Don’t keep me waiting, stud.”

She-Ra leans over her, and Catra gulps in her shadow, always forgetting just how big she is. She strokes Catra’s cheek gently, assuringly, and takes her upper lip in a comforting kiss. Keeping her tongue to herself this time, Catra finds herself pining for its return. In its place, the head of her strap kisses her mons, sending a cold touch that elicits a shiver and a held breath.

She-Ra moves in, and the way Catra is filled is nothing short of transcendent. Her loins tingle with such mind-shattering ecstasy that it makes her worry she’s going to be fucked into another universe. She holds onto She-Ra’s back, who pushes her open legs wider, and, at Catra’s nodding, agape mouth, penetrates deeper. Catra groans, fulfilled, and has no thoughts but the ones that end up with her being railed into complete, joyous submission. She steals a touch of her clit but She-Ra keeps her hand away, controlling and wanting Catra to enjoy this for much longer.

At halfway inside, Catra clamps her eyes shut and loses her carefully held breath to a shuddering gasp. Her nails dig into She-Ra’s back and the grunt she returns is maddeningly sexy. Catra looks down at the bulge disappearing inside her, charging her particles with sexual energy, and weakly angles her butt higher. An inch slides in, and out, and her legs clench hard.

“Oh fuck,” She pants, wrapping herself tightly to She-Ra’s core. “Yeah, baby, just like that.”

She-Ra slips in and out with the grace of a goddess, but it’s the way her gaze never leaves Catra’s face that really does it for her. She cares not for how her new invention works down below, only the effect it has on her partner’s face: how each push takes her breath away and each pull makes her groan and shift and grin in her need for more. And Catra gets it - she gets more every time, and finds herself falling in love with her generosity.

“Catra? Good?” She-Ra breathes warmth softly against her face. 

Her eyes are gorgeous. Catra pushes loose hair out of the way and can barely speak. She kisses her instead, and nods with a genuine smile. She-Ra touches their foreheads together, her hand firm at the back of her head, and Catra finds she likes her big nose, too. How her breathing through it is measured but animalistic. She likes how her lips are always ready to meet hers, to swallow her up and to love her without restraint. She probably doesn’t even know the word. It’s infinitely intoxicating, and makes Catra feel more real than ever.

She-Ra moves a little faster and shows off some of her power. Her strokes are fierce and conquering, and Catra has open borders; she’s all hers, and it’s wonderful to carry that trust. She-Ra’s strikes are an electric thread coursing through her body, tying them together, and to this beautiful world, making Catra shake with sheer gratification.

“Ah - ah - baby, baby, talk dirty to me. Sa--_ FUCK, oh my god- _ -uhh, say something like… ‘you’ve been a ba--AH--a bad girl,’ or - or ‘I’m gonna _ fuck _ you till you can’t walk,’ or - _ uhn - _ ‘you like that, kitten?’”

“You like that, kitten?” She-Ra repeats and Catra moans, jubilant, because _ why the fuck did I teach her that it’s not like she’s not hot enough already. _

Catra nods her head frantically and bites at She-Ra’s neck, hungrier than she ever thought possible as the thrilling, swirling vortex between her legs intensifies. 

“More,” Catra pleads.

“Greedy little girl. Small and hairy,” She-Ra says. Catra’s chest heaves with stifled laughter.

“Okay--mmhm--not bad. Not great, but keep going…”

“Sexy evil cat. Thirsty for She-Ra?”

“YEAH! That’s sorta okay! You got this!”

“Pretty kitty with nice lips and smile. I want you, to love you forever.”

_ Fuck it, that’ll do_. Catra kisses her, breathless and on the edge, entranced by a bizarre romance to which nothing else could compare. She wants her, too. But it must be more than want or need, because she knew neither felt this good, and she never got what she wanted before.

“Show me. Show me what you got. Fast and hard, yeah?” 

She-Ra complies, taking a moment to position herself rocksteady, and... _ WOW._

To think she had been holding back _ this much!_

She hilts Catra, whose head hits the dirt. The slapping of thighs reigns throughout Plumeria as the pace is set to something unmatchable by mortal loins. Catra’s eyes roll back as the flame inside her is fueled. It morphs into a roaring blaze that utterly ravages her and her last thought is that _ this is it._

She-Ra lifts her up, wrapping around her back and sucking on her breasts with no shortage of teeth as Catra finds paradise. She wills herself to look She-Ra in the eye, to acknowledge all her care as she jolts and throbs magnificently in her arms. It fades to a tremble as She-Ra finds her neck, planting a hickey of her own where everyone could see it (if they weren’t all dead) and then finally she reunites with her mouth, and it’s like life itself has kissed her back to consciousness.

She-Ra pulls out and snuggles up to Catra. She lets her rest on top of her mighty frame instead of the rough ground. She’s so warm that it makes Catra drowsy when the cool air meets her skin. Arms tighten around her, shield her from the elements, from everything, and Catra licks her cheek absent-mindedly. 

She dozes off for a little while, well and truly exhausted, and when she wakes She-Ra is stroking her hair and her ears and Catra has never been happier.

“Hi. What were we doing again?” Catra asks, dazed.

“Fright Zone?” She-Ra says.

_ What a stupid fucking name. _How little everything else seemed to matter in the afterglow. 

“Right. Home,” Catra says wistfully, looking up through the trees to an afternoon sky, and back down at She-Ra, who smiles her doofy smile and gives her a peck.

She looked like what home was supposed to be: comforting, personal, steadfast. She-Ra’s eyes look over her blissed-out face, her sore breasts, her markings, and she nuzzles against her.

“It can wait.” Catra gives her a kiss. “I’m gonna take another five, okay?” 

Catra thought this moment was too good to let pass, and also can't feel her legs again.

She-Ra nods, ever-patient, and continues to explore Catra’s body, softly and without prejudice, kissing her sharp, cold corruption as eagerly as her sleepy yellow eye. Catra melts into a much-needed nap, forgetting completely and utterly how five dead bodies continued to rot around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty intermission for your weekend! 
> 
> Wanted to get this out there before too much plot happens and the tone shifts. I think you can tell when the wine has a hand in my writing. Tell me if I should drink more or less haha. Thanks for reading!!


	6. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and She-Ra go home.

When they come to the final stretch leading into Fright Zone, rain falls. 

The region is normally hilly and barren, perhaps in anticipation of the earth-carving machines that lulled ignorant cadets to sleep deeper, closer to the core of their nightmares, but, now, Catra finds enough moss-clung sentry posts and vine-wrapped radio towers on the way to suggest that nature has won the final battle. 

Good. 

The flower princess would be pleased, and Catra always found her the most endearing of the sparkle squad. Naive, but her freckles are cute and Catra has a weakness for blondes. Her hands brush through wild, out-of-place grass, tall and magnificently colorful. She meets She-Ra’s hand, who is doing the same with a wondrous smile on her face, and nothing could be better.

The rain scatters droplets fatter and warmer than any Catra’s ever felt. She usually hates water - it makes her fur all soggy and heavy - but this, she thinks, is nice. It heats the air and everything smells like a sweet, misty dream. Tropical rain wasn’t normal this close to the Kingdom of Snows, but then, neither was anything about this world. The places were the same, but something was always off. It keeps her curious, and a hand keeps coming back to the computer disk in her pocket.

Did it matter? Nothing on it would be enough to make Catra forget that none of this was hers.

_ Ugh_, _ there it is_, _ right on time. _

She could never enjoy things for long, but at least she was finding it easier to try with every passing day. Catra puts it down to the company she keeps.

She-Ra finds a yellow wildflower spotted with red and tucks it where corruption meets Catra’s headpiece. It’s a sappy gesture, but she scratches a finger over the thorn at her black ear and smiles nonetheless. For a rampaging psychopath, She-Ra could be very sweet. 

Catra makes sure they take a route that has a stream and hunting spots on the way. She loves planning a future together, even if it’s only dinner. After She-Ra absolutely obliterates the first rabbit they find with her bare hands, Catra leads the hunt for the next one. She prowls around on all-fours, which She-Ra imitates, sniffing at the ground until they corner a wild boar. It seems too big--wasteful--but She-Ra’s bloodlust quickly takes over and they pounce on it together, wrestling it to the ground before finishing it off.

An impromptu fire and they eat a little too well, ending up sluggish with meat. They drink and bathe in the stream and Catra uses the opportunity to tend to She-Ra’s wound. It looks completely healed, but Catra doesn’t need a reason to touch her. It’s natural and relaxing and Catra feels a thousand years younger for doing so. Then, the water gets warmer around She-Ra and Catra is sharply reminded that they’re racing daylight. 

* * *

They make it to the Fright Zone before twilight takes hold, where, from the vantage of a crumbling hill, Catra takes in the sight of dozens of horde robots smothering the base. 

Scout-bots, air-drones and a couple of E.K.S models swarm the high walls of the immense fortification. They hang off decrepit drills that mark the outer perimeter, cling to pipelines running over canyon walls and twisted, metallic spires that touch a clear, remarkably smogless sky. It’s quiet but smells just as sulfuric as it should. Yellow chemicals overflow from a crack in the earth where a ruptured pump struggles on.

Some robots lay deactivated or destroyed, taken over by dry grass and half-buried in the salvage of their brothers and sisters, but most watch. Catra can see the purple glinting of their optics as they rotate, like a galaxy of neon lighthouses, as others extend their recon lasers to scan the nearby environment. A couple of laser shots cut through the air, vaporizing a songbird and a plant with too much spirit. 

Veins heat up along She-Ra’s arms and Catra reaches out to keep her cool. As confident as she is that they could take them all down together, she doesn’t want to waste her breath before they get inside, where who-knows-what might wait. She also doesn’t want to let She-Ra do it all on her own again. Reluctantly, she decides to play it smart.

“She-Ra, I’m gonna teach you a new word. _ Defensive_.” 

“Def-ens-if,” She-Ra repeats, her brow creasing. 

“Yeah! So, sometimes, when you’re fighting, it’s best _ not _ to kill everything you see.”

“Not kill?” She-Ra asks. She seems skeptical.

“Now, now, hear me out. If the objective - the, uh, thing we want - will give us the upper hand, we should save energy until we get it. And, in this case, we want in. Close quarters means they have less room to maneuver and you can, like, shoot a big beam at them or something if they manage to follow us inside. Inside means easy fight.”

“Not want easy fight. Struggle is good. Struggle means strength.”

“God, spare me your personal trainer pep-talk. Look, my head hurts. I want this one to be a breeze.” Catra closes the distance between them, gets on her tip-toes, wraps her arms around She-Ra’s waist and gives her glutes a pointy squeeze. “Which means so do you. Happy Catra means a very, _ very _ happy She-Ra, understand?” 

She-Ra nods and leans down to touch her face. Catra holds it close and then pulls it down over her cheek, her lips, neck, chest and down to her hips until she finally pushes it away. 

“Through the outer walls. Ignore the barracks, the armory. Straight for the main door. Attack only those who get too close, or try to cut us off. Fast and clean, okay?”

“Okay.” 

She-Ra turns her sword into a shield, picks up Catra, and they slide it down the slope into the Fright Zone she remembers. Craterous, rusty, endless. They hit even ground, and Catra suddenly feels an overwhelming warmth. It mellows out, her body adjusts, and it’s more like a freezing cold she never knew was there has vanished. She shrugs off a shiver as the first bot notices them.

A lone drone hones in on them, charging a red beam from under its triangular body. The first always misses, and She-Ra’s ready for the second. She picks up Catra and kickflips the shield with the last of its momentum. Snatching it out of the air and twisting her frame into a protective kneel, she deflects the shot back and the drone erupts into a flash of orange sparks.

“Showoff.” Catra wiggles free and gives her an appreciative punch. “Good defense though. Keep it up.”

Another drone flies towards them and, once again, it is alone. They must not be networked, or the connection between them is screwy, but either way, it’s good news for Catra because long-range is not her specialty. The outer wall is close by the time the first shot is charged, and a golden arrow sends it into space before it can even dare to fire.

An E.K.S crawls over the wall, silver-grey with three scythe-like spider-legs dipped in rust and its eye flashing purple-red in alarm. It takes a second--Catra can almost hear the gears turning as it shuffles through its prime directives--and then a siren splits the air as it locks onto the bigger of its two targets. A flock of pesky scout-bots comes to assist.

Entrapta had once told Catra she could only make four E.K.S models with the limited amount of First Ones’ tech they had. Hordak must have cracked open his piggy bank because last Catra remembers, She-Ra had destroyed every one. Why should she have all the fun?

“Break through the wall!” Catra shouts. “I got this.”

A claw comes down at She-Ra and she swipes it away, into the ground with her sword, before breaking off and sprinting for the concrete barrier. E.K.S follows her movements, which gives Catra enough time to scale the beast. She dodges a reactionary attack that tries to slice her in two and drives her nails through the noodly part of its arm until it comes off and tips them both to one side.

Catra maintains her balance and watches She-Ra getting progressively angrier with the wall. A hive of scout-bots nip at her heels and distract her with burning lasers as the sword struggles to get through. She works her sword like a crowbar in a crack, kicking away the pests and punching the wall in frustration. An Emily jumps at her and she catches it before whacking it furiously against the wall. She pauses, and Catra knows she’s figured something out.

A whine comes from the E.K.S and Catra looks down to meet the purple eye swiveling around; accusatory, mad. The whine grows higher in pitch and Catra jumps off because this sound is new to her. She lands on all fours and backs away. Electricity buzzes through the air and envelops the robot’s frame, discharging in a short radius around it before fizzling out and beginning to recharge.

_ Smart. Sure you’re not Entrapta’s kid sister? _

A laser sizzles past Catra’s ear and she leaps sideways before darting underneath the E.K.S. She tears at its underplating in the hopes of revealing a shiny weakness but the armor here is thicker than it’s supposed to be. An arm grabs her by the leg, drags her out from its blind spot and pins her to the ground as the ominous whine returns. Catra gets a scratch on its bendable arm with her toenails which immediately self-repairs, and even the lost limb is beginning to re-materialize in crystalline red before her eyes. 

_ Okay, that’s annoying_. _ It’s like fighting She-Ra all over again. _

Catra always figured Entrapta had been exaggerating when she said an E.K.S could rival a princess - scientific pride or whatever - but now it made sense that it took the entire sparkle squad to deal with four of them. Well, Catra wasn’t a princess, and she didn’t need any help.

The buzz reaches a crescendo as Catra closes her eyes and it’s like she’s sinking into the dirt. The cold metal grip tightens around her, confused, trying to keep her in place, but she fades as easily as time. She still feels the electricity; every single volt threading her skin and charring fur as the noise stops - and Catra becomes a battery too volatile for the bot to handle.

The purple light of E.K.S’s eye dilates, and its head explodes. It tries to repair. The current keeps circling and peels away plating until it reaches its every innard. It lights up like a plasma ball, forks of lighting cracking out and setting fire to the dry grass around it. Its limbs pop off and it tries to repair, but it is too much to ask of even the First Ones. It shuts down with a whimper and rocks back and forth, legless, lifeless. 

For a second (or a while, it really is hard to tell) Catra cannot find her body. Her mind is racing through the very cosmos and it’s hard to keep up with all the lights. Too charged up, and well and truly lost if she can’t tie herself back down to her form, she sees things. Stars, Horde Prime’s grand space-fleet docked in deep space, Queen Angella in a palace of mirrors.

And then she’s back, sitting up on burnt grass with shards of metal in her arms and a killer headache. She blows blood from her nose and looks at her hands but she can’t focus. Her skin is hot and her hands shake. An earthquake resounds, and she can barely hear it through the ringing in her ears, but she can feel its rumble in the ground beneath her.

The wall crumbles around She-Ra, bricks falling at her feet and crushing hapless robots. Even the rising dust cannot stop her shine, though, as glorious light clears Catra’s vision and she finds the princess holding a mighty sledgehammer over her shoulder, golden, bejeweled and surely heavy as sin. She blows hair free from her sweaty face with a cocky grin. 

Catra gets up, wincing, trying not to give away weakness. Her run is uneven and she sways out of step, but She-Ra is too busy clearing the rubble to notice. More flimsy air-drones take potshots at them and Catra throws rocks at them to fuck with their targeting. It pings off them as a barrage of lasers come blasting out, sending it spinning like a disco ball.

“Catra!” She-Ra calls, and points to a clear path, or as clear as someone eternally barefoot could hope for, through the debris to the courtyard. 

Catra starts following and then suddenly, unintentionally, blinks into place by her side. The movement catches up with her and it feels like she’s about to throw up. She-Ra looks at her with concern. 

“Ģ̴̭̱͍͊͗͝O̴͕̝͍̫̓̕̚!̵̨̦͓͔̰̬̚” Catra yells, and this time her body zips face-to-face with another E.K.S. “Oh, for f--”

Its head raises in alarm, but before it can emit its warning, the Sledge of Protection comes crashing down and buries its chassis into the ground. She-Ra starts pounding it into hell, the crunch of metal overcome by enraged screams, while Catra melts into the vertigo of a single step.

The last thing she sees is Adora’s knockout punch, her unwavering insistence that she, in fact, is in the right, as it comes her way again, and the last thing she feels is the snap of cold steel at her head as she is flung against the inner perimeter wall.  
  


* * *

She rises with a start, a billion volts shooting her upright and scaring the shit out of She-Ra, who takes no time at all to give her a crushing bear hug. She speaks quickly, relieved but with fear still high in her throat.

“Catra! Catra--I see you--I’m happy to see you. Thank you. Missed you.”

“My bones…” Catra squirms and She-Ra releases her with fretful apologies.

Catra surveys familiar surroundings: the entrance corridor to Fright Zone HQ. A dingy green and narrow hallway, but the cobwebs have gifted it more life than usual. A quiet hum of electronics and the sealed door are soothing, and just what she needs right now. It’s strange to think, but she feels safe here, with She-Ra. If there’s one thing you can count on in this place - it’s the promise of complete isolation from the outside world.

“How long was I out?” 

She-Ra shrugs and sits with her. “Not long. What happen?”

“You tell me,” Catra chuckles, but She-Ra isn’t having any of it. She furrows her brow and refuses to answer; Catra sighs. She deserves honesty. “I lost control. I move around a lot, so it’s hard to keep track of where I _ should _ be, if you get me. It’s fine, it happens.” 

“Not fine,” She-Ra helps her up and pats her back with a firm hand, shaking the dust loose from her fur and coaxing a dry cough from her now-blackened mouth. She’s disoriented, but the weightlessness of rapid teleportation is gone and she can still taste the pork from earlier. 

From inside one of her gold gauntlets, She-Ra pulls out the red-spotted yellow wildflower. Catra reaches up to her ear where it should be and finds it missing.

“Dropped it,” She-Ra says and puts it back where it belongs. “Pretty.”

“You didn’t have more pressing concerns out there?” Catra asks, blushing.

She-Ra shakes her head, repeats herself, and strokes Catra’s hair. Catra can’t help but lean into it. She starts to yawn but shakes herself awake. 

“Alright, alright, you big softie. Thanks. Really.” She reaches up on her tip-toes and awkwardly waits for She-Ra to meet her lips. 

Instead, she feels a hand lift her up by her bottom. Given enough height, she relaxes as she drapes her arms around She-Ra’s shoulders, licks at her lips, and kisses her forehead. She-Ra happily nuzzles into her neck and when they come away she’s slipped the disk free from Catra’s back pocket, holding it up proudly between two giant fingers.

“Look at you, sneak-thief!” Catra takes it from her, interlacing her fingers in its place and meeting She-Ra’s smile. “Mm, as much as I wanna find out what else those hands can do, we should go see what all the fuss is about, yeah?” 

She-Ra gives a half shrug, and then an unenthusiastic nod at Catra’s crossed arms, and they begin traversing the cold, empty hallways of home. There are no changes to be seen, as far as Catra can tell from poking her head through familiar automatic doorways into the past. 

The room where they ‘interrogated’ Entrapta has a lot more weaponry scattered around, but otherwise, it looks like they still haven’t bolted the vents back up after all of her scurrying. Catra pockets a stun-baton: she missed the crackle of power and how easy it was to end a conversation with one of these by your side. 

She-Ra lifts her top and encourages Catra to zap her abs, which she does with some hesitation. She-Ra grits her teeth as her face works through a grimace, keeping her core taut as the electricity tries to paralyze, but it burns out against her godlike endurance and she flexes like she’s just scored the winning point at The Big Game. She punches her own stomach and grunts as it clearly stings but she puts on a brave face and Catra can’t believe how much she loves this dumbass.

The locker room is grey and messy, but at least it doesn’t smell so badly of sweat. There has been a fight here, judging from the burn marks on the walls and one destroyed shower cubicle. Lonnie’s locker door has been ripped off completely; nothing remains inside. 

One of their last stops is the cafeteria, where tables and chairs have been left upturned and the only ration bars left are the greenish-brownish ones. Catra waves one in front of She-Ra’s nose and it looks like she’s tasted defeat for the first time: the sparkles around her die and she goes a sickly green color that visibly reduces her glowing aura.

When they come to Entrapta’s study, a generously-sized room well-suited for the darkness of monitors and horror stories, Catra is disturbed by the lack of equipment and general tidiness of the area. Usually, all manner of stuff could be found, though Catra could never guess their purpose. Generally, some cylindrical things buzzed, boxes whirred and wires lay dangerously exposed in all corners, but now all that remains is their pink couch for watching bot-streams and the screen hooked up to the Horde’s default communications player.

“Here goes nothing.”

Catra turns the monitor on and gets the player booted up, though it takes a while. Its hum is welcome, as is the bright light that illuminates the couch. She-Ra takes a seat, nearly tipping the couch over and, after hitting the screen a couple of times and swapping around some wires, Catra joins her. 

The pixels come to life. A timestamp informs them that the date of this recording was some 53 years ago and that it’s about two minutes long. They hear Entrapta’s voice and see her haunted face, beaded with sweat and laced with barely-contained panic. She’s in shock.

* * *

“Log 315--3250--3--um, uh, final - final log.” 

Entrapta is putting something together in a crowded, dimly-lit room. There is salvage everywhere and her eyes are manic. She’s bundled up with the same warm clothes that took the super pal trio to the Northern Reach, but her hands are shaking and she keeps dropping her screwdriver. 

“Attempts to infect She-Ra with First Ones Artifact Number 58 have been successful. But, reversing the process has been met with…” 

Entrapta chokes and holds a hand to her mouth. She hits her head, wipes her tear-struck eyes and puts on her welding mask as she attaches the power core of a stun baton to a Horde-bot’s laser rifle. Her words come easier when accompanied by the searing of metal.

“I - I just don’t understand. We broke the crystal, but she hasn’t stopped. She doesn’t even need the - the sword anymore, it’s _in her_. She killed the worm, then she - she - ”

A heavy bang spikes the audio and Entrapta jumps at the vicious scream that follows. The banging gets faster and louder as Entrapta looks over her shoulder to its source, a welded-shut door that is beginning to give way. Demented laughter comes muffled through heavy steel, and then clear through the fresh cracks in the doorway. Entrapta clenches her fists.

“No, it’s my fault. I - I did it this to them.” Tears stream down Entrapta’s pale, stretched face as she throws her mask to the ground and wraps industrial tape around the two components. She messes with their circuitry, sparking wires stinging her face as restrained sobs make her chest heave. 

“Glimmer. Bow…” 

Entrapta looks down at the weapon she’s made and sniffles. She runs a hand over it lovingly.

“Scorpia tried to save Catra but… I don’t think… oh, my - my - it’s all my fault…”

“RRAAAAAAAUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

A visible shiver travels through Entrapta and her eyes come up to the camera.

“Emily… it’s up to you. Catra bought us time to do something, but I - ”

Entrapta falters, holding herself up with the workbench, and is angry with herself. She gets close and wraps her arms around her bot, the camera goes black and her whimpers amp up into high, scared wails.

“I don’t know what to do, Emily, I don’t know what to do - I just want them, my friends, back. I didn’t mean for any of this, I could’ve never, never accounted for...” 

Her crying is punctuated by periodic clangs at the door, charges of anger and the dent of a big boot twisting metal. She leans back, swallows, and takes shallow breaths. 

“All I can think… all that, that makes sense to me right now is the crystal. The runestones. We - I’ve - thrown Etheria out of balance, but what if the other runestones can fix it? All together, as many as you can reach, with the First Ones’ power of this crystal as a catalyst? The infection should be gone, in - in theory. So, so… use it to connect them all, network them, and maybe, maybe, if it doesn’t destroy the entire world first, the ruins will come back to life, First Ones’ strongholds will come out of the ground and the magical lifeblood of the planet will return, will - will - save us, snap her out of it, kill her--SOMETHING--I can't let all thisbe for nothing!”

The top of the door bends backward; snow and light rush in from the gap as furious red eyes peek in and grow excited. She-Ra snarls, her face a mask of blood. 

“Emily, I’m sorry. This'll take you a while. Go to the Fright Zone first, the Black Garnet, it can tell you where the others are. Everyone, anyone who gets this: help this bot, try to get the crystal to react with the runestones, watch out for this monster and please, please forgive me!” 

Entrapta kisses the camera and cocks her makeshift weapon.

“I love you, Emily. Now, go, please. I’ve got an experiment to wrap up.”

The camera lifts up and light gets smaller as Emily retreats backward through a vent. A horrendous rip of metal, a violent yell, and the double flash-bang of two electric shells are the last things she picks up before the feed cuts out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I'm sorry for the wait! My holiday & borderlands got in the way so I hope this chunkier chap makes up for it. The plot arriveth, as does October, and I've got some spooky chapters coming so stock up on cocoa and fresh bedsheets! Please gimme thoughts/concrit/let me know if anything needs more clarification bc I want everyone to be on the same page for where we going! <3


	7. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra and She-Ra explore a haunted house.

Entrapta’s study settles into an uneasy silence as Catra’s eyes adjust to the sudden darkness of the room. She tries to think of what she should say - realizing just how much of her is performative - all the little gestures and catchphrases that help neutralize any feeling and keep her stable. Nothing witty, nothing dismissive comes to mind, only Entrapta.

She always knew reality was going to be painful, but any time the specter of truth crept too close she’d simply fuck it away. Now, she wasn’t prepared to digest it, as acid pools in her gut and makes her sick, with anger first--infinite power, and all she gets to do with it is watch her friends die--and then a sorrow too sour and heavy on her soul to ignore.

She misses Entrapta, and allows herself to, here in her quiet sanctum. It feels right. No-one appreciated her as they should have, least of all Catra. She always had the answers, even if they were hard to understand. She rubs a tear from her blue eye into her fur and black flecks of corruption fall away with her hand, clearing up her cheek.

Out of the corner of her eye, there is She-Ra on the couch next to her, elbows on her knees, staring at the black screen. Catra can’t seem to face her, nestled in contemplation, mourning a friend she never knew and torn up by what she had done to her own. 

_ The super pal trio. _ They were only children, then, and they made up a childhood together that none of them were given on their own. The joy that Entrapta and Scorpia had brought her... happiness she had spat on and stuffed under her old bed like it was another bad memory, it all came rushing back to her - those moments of friendship that Catra knew always came to an end. A cheek hooks upwards and something sticks in her throat.

She-Ra’s leg moves and Catra flinches, and that drags her out of her thoughts because she’s not scared of her. She-Ra touches the screen and presses random buttons. Catra doesn’t even blame her, _really_, being crazy and all, but she’s only now finding it hard to accept all she must have done. She-Ra stands tall, frustrated when nothing happens, and shakes the monitor until it nearly snaps. She takes a beat and turns to Catra.

“Again,” She says, distress on her face and confusion making her jumpy.

“What?” Catra’s voice isn’t as commanding as usual, and she clears her throat.

“See again! Know her.” She points at the blank screen. “I remember her. Watch, again!” 

“No.” Catra’s not going to let her do that to herself. She knows what it’s like.

“AGAIN!” She-Ra is loud. She impatiently drags Catra’s arm over to the screen.

Catra snarls, freeing herself with a scratch and puncturing the monitor with jet black claws. Sparks singe her fur. She faces She-Ra, who breathes hot and hard, looking at her with wide red eyes. Her fists are clenched, knuckles scarred and embedded with gravel.

“No,” Catra says, as her eyes grow sharp and dare her to do something about it.

She-Ra takes a step forward and wraps a large hand around her neck. It’s tight. Catra likes it. Bloody nails dig into her skin and mold her throat. It’s good. She deserves it. She gives a choked laugh as the grip gets firmer and it turns to a squeak.

“I kill you. I kill everyone,” She-Ra says, coming out more heartbroken than Catra expected. Her words lose any edge in the face of Catra’s fanged grin until her grip slackens.

“I’d love to see you try.” 

That pisses her off. She-Ra lifts her by the neck and pushes her against a wall, bashing her head against it. Catra understands. She-Ra’s trying to feel things. It’s noble, to make something of whatever the past has done to her, but Catra knows it’s a long and winding road and there’s never any closure at the end for people like them. They should talk about it. They should both move on.

Catra starts seeing spots and her legs twitch. She-Ra grits her teeth but her eyes are pleading. For hope, absolvement, release. They well with tears and flicker blue as her hand shakes; she starts breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. 

“Kill you… kill me…”

“Fuck me,” Catra says through a gasp. She-Ra’s lets up a little, but Catra digs nails in her hand and keeps her mad. “Fuck me better.” 

She-Ra searches her face for something. Her rage soon begins to die, and her eyes grow softer. She looks down at Catra’s mouth as if to judge the validity of the words spoken. 

“ _ Fuck me _ ,” Catra begs, offering her tongue.

She-Ra loosens her grip, then tightens just enough. She licks her lips and bites the tongue.

“Fuck you,” She-Ra says; their foreheads hit and she pushes Catra’s head to the side with her own. She pulls her tongue up Catra’s cheek and leaves her with bites that burn. 

Catra moans, finding redemption in She-Ra’s scorn and keeping the hand solid against her throat. She tries to wrap her legs around She-Ra’s waist but is caught by another hand between her legs, pinning her to the wall. She-Ra rubs her hard through the fabric while Catra grows dizzy and breathless from the excitement and depravity - the only two things she could count on in this life.

She-Ra takes stiff breaths in her ears and gnaws on them. Catra fucking loves how her teeth feel, how it sends sparks down her spine and makes her fur stand on edge. She moans, finding herself drawn to She-Ra’s neck. But life is unfair, and she can only nip at it encouragingly. She wants to drag her lips along her but can’t extend without She-Ra locking her throat back against the wall, the hard thump at her back a delicious reminder of what she is to her. Catra becomes a vessel for fifty years of frustration - it rips through her like a chainsaw on fire and she reaches down to feel its roar.

The hand comes away for long enough to give Catra some air before it is replaced by a much stronger forearm. She barely feels her pants come down, but the fingers - now,  _ that,  _ she can feel - through her body, into her twisting vortexes of hatred and anguish and back out again, until the waves foam up and plunge her, instead, into bursts of devastating pleasure.

It doesn’t take long, but She-Ra likes to twist the knife; to coax out every mewl and pitiful struggle in her arms. Catra rocks her hips, but the pace and positioning are all She-Ra’s. She travels through her with ease and Catra’s sure that she blacks out for a minute because the arm pinning her has swapped and now her chest is bare and wet.

Every part of her tingles even as the ecstasy declines, and she holds onto She-Ra for life. Her firm body and considerate hands--even amid her wrathful appetite--moving Catra’s arms and legs to where they needed to be, to balance the hard wall at her back with the opening of her body, to accept tenderness the only way she could, through a brutally deep shattering. Catra closes her eyes, rides She-Ra for an eternity, and feels herself crashing upon sacred rocks in an empty ocean.

When they settle down, Catra finds the bliss colder and more temporary than usual. There’s a pain in her stomach, and she finds black tar on her fur up to her belly-button. It hardens, becoming a tight layer of skin, and She-Ra touches it. It leaves her finger bloody, and she looks at Catra, calmly sympathetic, before kissing her.

“So, what, you grow a conscience on me now?” Catra says, with fewer barbs in her breathless voice. She needed that, and She-Ra looks just as content with her work.

“Entrapta,” She-Ra says, breathing slowly and seeming thoughtful as she puts Catra down. “Make me like this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Why?” 

“It was an accident. A mistake, at first. Then we thought maybe you’d be better off like this.”

“Mistake.” She-Ra stares at her hands. “Wrong.”

“Yep, we were wrong. And now I know just how bad things could have turned out. Not that I’m a fuckin’ beacon of hope or anything, but at least everyone’s alive in my universe. ‘Till I find my way back there, anyway.”

“Go back?” She-Ra looks hurt. “Why?”

Catra doesn’t know any way to phrase this where she doesn’t sound like an asshole. It’s probably because she’s an asshole. 

“It’s… kinda my thing. Fucking over everyone who ever gave a shit about me, y’know?” Her laugh turns into a cough, dust circulating her lungs, and she rubs her eyes tiredly. “Better I ruin them than you.”

“Already ruined,” She-Ra says simply, and holds out both her hands. “I need you. Stay with me? Fix things for purple mom. Kill… less.”

For an idiot, she sure has a way with words. Catra takes her hands, running thumbs over them and marveling at their size. She’d go anywhere with her... if only there was something more to this life. Some purpose beyond looking in a mirror to her suffering. At least this mirror had pretty eyes and liked her more than most.

“Of course, baby. But don’t get your hopes up. No way we’re finishing what Entrapta started. There was no crystal in Emily’s body, remember? And with her offline, there’s no way of interfacing with the Black Garnet. This connecting the runestones thing? Not happening.”

She-Ra dangles her sword like its a keychain. “Maybe?”

Catra crosses her arms and mulls it over in her head. She sucks her teeth and shrugs. 

“Sure, I guess. The sword. It seems to do just about everything else. Why not?”

“Try.” She-Ra smiles.

“We’ll try,” Catra agrees.

* * *

  
  
  


The artificial light buzzing through the corridors dims as they get closer to the chamber of the Black Garnet. Some of the automatic doors don’t open like they should as they pass by or get stuck and fall shut from insufficient power. Their abrupt bangs break the quiet patter of their footsteps and put the pair on edge; Catra feels more haunt _ ed  _ than the haunt _ er _ . 

She-Ra puts her hand on a blank, green section of paneling. For a second, Catra doesn’t understand, but then it clicks. She looks up and there’s the wide-brimmed vent she used to escape through when on the run from Octavia, when she was very young, and Shadow Weaver, for most of her life. It leads up to the rooftop access where she once bribed satellite maintenance crews with whatever contraband she could get her hands on in exchange for time to herself. 

And, occasionally, time with Adora, though she struggled to get up as easily as Catra could, and always needed her helping hand. She would kick off the same wall that She-Ra now touched and hang in the air, trusting that Catra would sooner expose both of them rather than let her fall. Catra takes her hand and moves her on, noting how she seemed to take everything in with a half-forgotten, curious nostalgia.

Decayed bodies lay clustered in the officers’ quarters, and not all of them wear Horde armor. They are compiled so eerily neat, paired in twos and eight to a circle, facing each other as if at a strategy meeting, or a tea party. The topic of the day seems to be a tiny purple gemstone inscribed with First Ones’ writing - a gift from Entrapta to Hordak.

Through a barred entryway to the gym, blocked by upturned tables and heavy tool-boxes, Catra can see a young, male, humanoid skeleton. It is draped over a fallen punching bag that has been decimated by laser fire. There are two holes in his head and a shoulder has been disintegrated. He still clutches a stun baton. Catra thinks she knows who it is. Her soul nearly leaves her body when She-Ra’s hand suddenly comes around her waist to comfort her. She shivers but accepts its warmth gratefully, her heartbeat beginning to settle down.

A light pops above them, making She-Ra scream and sending shards of glass to the ground. That one doesn’t get Catra; she snickers and steps around it and they head to the next area of cold white light, where, through Hordak’s sanctum, they can connect to the core of the base and the Black Garnet’s chambers. 

Light flickers weakly outside the sanctum, but it’s more welcoming than the pitch-black  _ clang-clang-clang _ of falling doors behind them. She-Ra has goosebumps along her ripped arms and watching her teeth chatter is stupid-cute. Catra's tempted to scare her but that’s just asking for it.

Before they hit the door, and long before they’re in range of the door’s sensors - it opens. 

Catra takes in a sharp breath as She-Ra crushes her hand, but they stay quiet. She-Ra looks at her for answers but Catra can’t take her eyes off the doorway. She counts the five seconds it takes for the door to close under her breath. 

_ 1 _

_ 2 _

_ 3 _

_ 4 _

_ 5 _

_ 6? _

It remains open. Someone is on the other side, keeping it active. 

Catra swallows and then yells.

“HEY! WHOEVER’S IN THERE, I’M GONNA -- ”

She-Ra’s hand clamps her mouth shut and she shushes her. 

“Ghosts!” She half-whispers. “Monsters!” 

The door shuts. 

Catra pulls the hand away and looks at her, more frustrated than scared.

“WE ARE THE MONSTERS! And ghosts aren’t real!”

She-Ra shakes her head intensely and holds a finger to her mouth. “There is. Seen them.”

“Have not.”

“Have.”

“Have  _ not _ !”

“Ha--”

Now, Catra’s hand is around She-Ra’s mouth. “Shut the fuck up and help me kill whatever’s in there!”

“Cannot kill ghosts,” She-Ra says a microsecond after having her speech returned.

“Watch me.” 

Catra storms the room and She-Ra clumsily follows her in with a hand in front of her eyes.

Hordak - armorless, threadbare - sits at the end of a vast, cyber-gothic room of otherworldly science, atop his throne. Illuminated from above by the only light in the room: a direct, surgically cold white light that steeps the far walls in shadow. 

He’s slumped back in his favorite chair, half-decomposed. Over to one side hangs his limp head and one of his arms has fallen off the bone. All in all, he looks mostly the same as he did when alive, which creeps Catra out. She-Ra wafts a hand in front of her nose because the room smells about as bad as he looks.

Vats of bubbling green line the walls of the sanctum, where malformed clones of Hordak bob, suspended in unlife. Off to the darker corners, more failed experiments lie. The portal containment field, can Catra see, has been destroyed. Scorch marks emblazon the ground beneath fried robot arms that almost offered him the universe.

_ You snooze, you lose _ . 

Catra approaches the throne in soundless steps over olive tiles, around his armor constructor (wardrobe) and under multi-colored insulated cables that run around pillars of metal and across the expanse of the high ceiling. Catra sees a flash of something in the dark above, but follows the light back to a mirror She-Ra is toying with on one of the smaller workbenches. It's covered in medical equipment: sutures and dried blue blood.

Catra climbs the steps of the throne. It lifts into the air above a sheer drop where a mass of machinery sits below. She-Ra watches in awe from the base of the stairs, and Catra feels powerful. As she reaches the final step, she looks down on him and wondered how she was ever so scared of such a pitiful man.

His visage is still as intimidating, if not more, with hollow cheeks connecting across a thin layer of grey skin, forked through by sharp blue veins latching onto his white cybernetic skull. Catra doesn’t miss his red eyes and pokes her fingers through the sockets. In there, too, are hard shells of electronics, and she regrets doing this immensely when green bio-slime comes back coating her nails.

Icy, gnarled claws suddenly tear through her back; the pain gives her chills.

They cut through her until they catch on her shoulder blade and send her reeling into Hordak’s body. She hears She-Ra’s frightened yelp and the sound of her bumping into something, and then a starving shriek pierces the room. The vats start shaking and green lights come on all around to illuminate the deformed silhouettes inside, twitching in fast-motion. Catra pushes herself up with the throne and turns to face her attacker.

A hunched, ape-like creature with bat-wings perches on the silver archway to the throne. Its hair is a mangy dark blue that falls all over its bony body, ending in long, uneven nails on its hands and feet. It looks at her with night-lit, alien yellow eyes and its smug bastard grin reminds her of a little shit she used to know, now matured into a blood-starved devil with its crooked tail springing to full alert.

Imp speaks in different layers of Hordak’s voice: 

“ _ FORCE CAPTAIN...!  _ Do you know-- _ FAILURE? _ \--I am a failure…” 

She-Ra draws her sword on the opposite side of the room, but Catra holds her hand up.

Imp coughs a vile, ravaged breath and looks as incensed with her as he does near-death. His angular shape gives away a hunger unfulfilled, or an inability to feed. His long legs are less substantial; he is fast but weak; driven but incomplete. He groans low and raspy until Hordak’s voice comes through again.

“Dying here… without her. Entrapta would not have allowed me to meet such a foolish end. The cadets in revolt, a mad princess at my door, my body  _ failing…  _ Prime was right.”

Imp hides his face but his voice echoes throughout the sanctum. 

“I miss her terribly, and only now do I appreciate the power in saying it. That, at least, is something he cannot take away from me. Some understanding he will never possess.”

Imp lets out a pained moan and tears fill his sunken yellow eyes.

“I’ve tried accelerating the cloning process, but all of the subjects end up degenerative and unsuitable for transplant. Like you, my dear little friend. What a miserable pair we are, last of the great conquerors… fated since birth for mediocrity… left to die on my chair instead of the battlefield, like a damned bureaucrat…”

Imp hacks up blue blood on his hand and stares at it before opening his mouth wide again.

“Be free, child. Play for a while longer and find a home, if you can, for this world is yours as much as it should be mine. And _d_ _ o not _ trust Shadow Weaver to help you.”

Imp starts hissing and points at Catra. She takes a step back and jostles Hordak; his jaw unhinges.

“Her timely vanishing betrays her fondness for Adora. Bright Moon has fallen to her unchecked power and so will we, in time. I suspect the witch has something afoot.”

Imp tilts his head to one side and lets his hand fall. He shrieks and a chorus of muted screams join him. The noise comes from the vats lining the walls, and She-Ra turns around to find monstrous hands hammering at the glass coffins from within. Faces slam up against them, predatory red eyes scouring the outside world with bloody teeth bared. 

Cracks form in the containers and blue liquid spills out as an assortment of clones scrape their steel claws and hooked fingers against the reinforced glass. One with metal melded into its skull gives a headbutt and smashes a hole clear through, a deluge of foul water heralding the arrival of the undead, vampiric space-bats. 

Catra throws Hordak’s arm at Imp but he’s already gone, having retreated through the ducts in a beat of his wings. Below, She-Ra wrestles with the creatures. She drives the metal-head through the chest with her sword, pinning him in his casket but doing nothing to stop his bloodlust; he writhes and howls, trying to swipe at her while his brothers step free, and eventually pulling the sword loose.

Leaping down the stairs, Catra picks up a partially-disassembled stun baton and lodges it in the heart of a monster shambling towards She-Ra from behind. It tries to bite Catra even as it goes down, clutching its wound. They come from all corners, some slow, but most fast, with a ravenous hunger compelling their deficient bodies. A couple of them go down by themselves - unable to breathe, or perhaps simply in need of more time to rest. It’s hard to form a plan with all this fucking screaming, but most of it is coming from She-Ra because she's having _the time of her life_ .

She-Ra punches a vampire’s head clean off, but its teeth get lodged in her fist and she laughs as she shakes it off. They swarm her, and her shape gets bigger with the mass of bodies dogpiling her, but she grabs one off her back by its head, slams it to the ground, and the earth shakes in her wake, knocking them all away like bowling pins.

Catra dances over the vibrations, perfectly balanced, whereas the Hordaks stumble over on their marrowless legs. She uses the time they’re on the floor to clean up five vampire wannabes with decisive strikes to their necks. One pursues her even after having his throat torn, but it doesn’t take long for it to fall to its knees in a pool of artificial blood.

She reaches She-Ra and pulls away a clone gnawing at her side by its leg. It scrambles to its side, wailing accusatory at her, and Catra shuts it up with her foot. She-Ra whirls around with an outstretched arm, clotheslining the heads off of two monsters and nearly Catra, who ducks just in time. 

“Hey!” She yells and jumps on the princess’ shoulders. From her vantage point, she chooses a target out of the range of She-Ra’s kill-zone. There’s one at the back that moves with the arrogant disinterest of Hordak himself. “That one!”

She-Ra throws a furry fastball special directly at him. Catra splits the air and the clone’s head with her claws, sliding on his dissected body and attracting the attention of the last backline of creatures not currently occupied with being destroyed by She-Ra. Nails in their eyes--two fall at her feet--but she gets stuck in their congealed flesh and it leaves her open.

She’s pushed down by the splintered fingers and gnashing red jaws of three beasts, with their screeching in her ears making her angry. Someone less experienced than she might be thrown off by such a fright, but she knows time is on her side. 

She blinks… and nothing happens. 

The volts from the E.K.S come back to haunt her, her stomach burning with pain as she fails to alter reality. She just needs a little more time, but the noxious drool falling from the gaping mouths of these abominations as they scratch her legs and fight with her arms tells her she’s used up too much. She headbutts the ringleader, who has the gall to meet her gaze, and furious, it goes for her neck.

A golden-white boot annihilates its head in a spatter of blue, careening though Catra’s vision like lightning and easing the weight on her body considerably. She kicks free of the one at her legs and jabs her nails into the temple of the one at her arms, over and over, micro-punctures making a messy hole that consumes its ear. She finally comes to see that the one going for her legs, in fact, has no legs for himself. She-Ra’s foot pins its head to the floor and then crushes it with a sickening slowness. It gives one last cry before the crunch brings silence back to the sanctum.

“Easy fight?” She-Ra says, breathing heavy and offering Catra a hand up. She’s drenched in blue blood - Catra prefers it red. She takes her hand anyway and the rush of air makes her feel faint.

“Yeah,” Catra says unconvincingly, wiping the blood from her eyes and scratching the itchy bite-marks on her forearms. 

Her skin isn’t penetrated deep, but she feels drained and her wounds are turning a shade of pale blue. Her lack of powers worry her, but she chalks it up to overexertion. There’s no reason to be going as hard as she is with She-Ra by her side, but then, she’s never been good at playing it safe. She knots her arm in She-Ra’s and allows her to lead them away from the pile of corpses to somewhere she can sit.

Catra points them to the passageway to the Black Garnet’s chambers when a freezing sensation overtakes them. She gets deja vu - when they first breached the Fright Zone, and that sudden heat that seemed to come from the absence of an oppressing cold - finding it returned, reversed, and immobilizing.

It hurts to breathe: each inhale a snap of air hitting the back of her throat, but now Catra presses on because her thoughts make her shudder and she has to know. She-Ra struggles to keep up with her as they move under short-circuiting red lights and into the chamber proper.

Red, arcing electricity fills the room. The Black Garnet is not there. Catra feels like she does when barreling through the cosmos: lost, peeling away, on the edge of the universe, but this energy is localized. A clean, perfect transfer of matter, undistorted and uncorrupted, drowns the room in density.

The Black Garnet appears - a violent, jagged red crystal through a rift in the universe - and so does she.

She hovers above the runestone, a long, silver streak cutting through her infinite black hair. Her hands are outstretched and Catra can see magical veins siphoning the power of Scorpia’s runestone and charging the sorceress with unholy energy. She's laughing.

Shadow Weaver turns to face them. Her voice crackles with power and slips into their ears.

“Late, as usual, Catra.”

The pair are frozen in place, surrounded by a cold, crimson aura, and Catra cannot even think. Something reaches into her hair, a tendril of darkness manifesting from nothing, and it takes She-Ra’s wildflower from her mane. It returns it, slowly, to Shadow Weaver’s hand, where, after inspection, it is turned to ash.

“Having fun, child?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real nightmare begins…


	8. Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra faces off with her tormentor. She-Ra comes undone.

“Why, Catra, you’ve been busy…”

Wisps of dark matter extend from Shadow Weaver’s form and inspect Catra’s body, who struggles against a familiar paralysis seizing her bones. She’s ten again, powerless, frightened, and so confused as to what she has done to deserve this. 

She’s reminded: cold tendrils touch the crystalline blackness of her corruption, which follows the right side of her head, consumes her right arm, and smothers both legs up to her waist. More skin crumbles away into pink light before corruption overcomes it. It reacts to the surrounding red aura, sparking into sharp pains that explode in her gut as if ignited by the old witch.

“Look at what has become of you without her.”

Her gaze, and seemingly the gaze of the room, shifts to She-Ra. Catra finds She-Ra isn’t restrained by any magic. She stands motionless, leaving Catra to her punishment, as she had time and time again. It still stings. 

“Did you think you had tamed this one? That she was your reward, for you to command?” 

Shadow Weaver’s voice is perverse as it dips into the darkest parts of her mind, and suddenly there’s her hand on her shoulder. It’s worse than she remembers, somehow. For all the crushing weight behind it, it stays soft and half-convincing. 

“She was never yours.” 

Tears fall from Catra’s frozen face, unbidden, and she is allowed only shaky breaths. Shadow Weaver circles her; her hand reaches out to her face but stops when fangs come out. White eyes offer false comfort from deep behind the confines of her mask, which Catra finds perfectly intact. 

“She is mine.”

Shadow Weaver beckons She-Ra over. She-Ra walks to her and doesn’t spare a glance at Catra. She can only watch as the princess kneels before her teacher and offers her the Sword of Protection.

“And she always will be.”

A flash of red light bursts from the gemstone in Shadow Weaver’s mask - Catra notices a shimmering line passing through the air from her to the Black Garnet - and She-Ra collapses. Catra gets her voice back.

“FUCK YOU! I’M GONNA TEAR YOUR UGLY FACE OFF AND - ”

And then the oxygen leaves her lungs with a flick of Shadow Weaver’s wrist. She hates being toyed with. With what little movement she still possesses, Catra opts to grind her teeth. It doesn’t help.

“You are as insufferable as my Catra. More driven, perhaps, but equally pathetic.”

_Her Catra?_ _Did she know about all this cosmic bullshit?_

“She fought with all she had but She-Ra, naturally, was stronger. It was quite charming; poetic by all accounts. In the end, even amidst her terrible madness, Adora couldn’t put an end to your miserable life.”

Catra looks at She-Ra’s motionless body and tries to calm herself but her mind is swirling with images of her drawn-out death as magic threatens to consume her entirely.

“But I could.”

There’s a smile in Shadow Weaver’s voice, and a short excited cackle that follows her satisfied breathing. It sends shivers through Catra, who can’t tell if its dark forces or fear. Shadow Weaver cocks her head at Catra and takes her chin, now, without hesitation. The touch sickens her. Her head is tilted back and forth, bony fingers digging firmly into her cheeks.

“Where did you come from?” 

Catra speaks without thinking: there are hooks in her brain that pull the truth from her.

“Hordak’s portal wasn’t ready. I activated it with Adora’s sword. I fucked up the universe… to spite her. To spite you. Now I’m gonna fuck up your whole shitty planet… how’s that for power?”

Shadow Weaver laughs and it echoes throughout the chambers. The Black Garnet seems to resonate with her joy, glowing a deeper red until it overflows in waves of sadistic energy. Catra thinks she sees something moving inside the crystal.

“I’m almost impressed, Catra,” Shadow Weaver caresses Catra’s tufts of hair with her poisonous affection. “But while you two were rutting like beasts I was growing stronger in ways you cannot possibly imagine.”

An awkward silence fills the room, disrupted only by an occasional fork of crimson lightning shooting from the Black Garnet, tying itself to her mask and her cold red aura.

“Yes, I saw, much to my immense displeasure. Though I cannot say it surprised me to find you indulging in your sick fantasies with my ward. Your arrival sent tremors throughout Etheria for those of us still around to listen, and, upon seeing your face, I simply knew you must have, how you say, ‘fucked something up.’ Naturally, you would return here, sword in tow, and, how considerate even, that you would grant me the rewards of your very being.”

Shadow Weaver grabs her arm roughly and rubs a thumb over corrupted skin. 

“Thank you, Catra. I am always in the market for new abilities. This will hurt.”

Catra feels all the blood in her body rush to her arm as her life begins to drain into Shadow Weaver’s hand. Pain rakes through her forearm, nebulous tendrils reaching every shard of black on her body and feasting on it. Shadow Weaver offers soothing noises as Catra screams in furious agony. 

The corruption begins receding from Catra’s legs and she starts to lose form. She needs this suffering to live; she can’t surrender it now. 

To her, of all people. 

Catra looks at She-Ra’s prone body. She hates doing this on her own. It hurts - she’s exhausted and warped by an all-too-familiar evil disintegrating her from the bottom up - but she tries to eke out more of her time-fucking tricks. Her hairs stand on end.

“Oh?” Shadow Weaver takes in a ravenous, delighted breath, “ _ Yes… show me _ .” 

Catra blinks. Forcing her eyes closed is difficult in itself and, at first, nothing seems to happen. Her body spasms under Shadow Weaver’s ravaging influence. Then…

“Oh?” Shadow Weaver’s same starving, excited inhale. “ _ Yes… show me _ .” 

Catra gets another five seconds and the assurance that it's not over yet. She shuts her eyes again and demands something more. She focuses all her anger and anguish into the right place and  _ time _ . Something decisive, a strike at her head - which would be a little higher than normal because she liked to hover - and this would be over. They could go back.

Once more.

_ “...show me _ .” 

Catra phases free, and Shadow Weaver is left holding an afterimage. Catra shifts through the witch’s body, which leaves ice in her lungs, and ends up behind her. All she can see is her hair, an endless obsidian fountain cut through by a silver streak, and she thrusts her hand inside hard, claws braced for her spine.

Suddenly the air pressure in the room hits an unbearably high level. Her ears pop and she feels bloody skin under her nails as one arm is trapped in Shadow Weaver’s abyssal hair. Her mask is glowing. The other arm is sucked towards the Black Garnet, where a rift tears through space-time in a deafening slice. 

A doorway is opened. Catra sees infinity, and then stars.

From inside, something  _ massive  _ reaches out to grab her. 

Hands, dozens of them, comprised of shadow and dotted with demonic, blood-red eyes, claim her. They extend from the Black Garnet’s rift and push it open wider until malformed elbows manage to escape too, supporting more of the unknown behemoth’s terrible weight. The entity’s eyes clot together and separate like cells, shifting along with its appendages until it can inspect the immobile Catra with its many dilated, putrescent pink pupils.

It shambles through the chambers, black form alight with miniature celestial bodies, stars and countless small particles forming rings that drift, consumed, though its arms to its many peering eyes. Its shape might be likened to a spider, though its legs are nowhere to be found. Its mass simply treads, like a tank, flesh - or shadow - bubbling along the ground until it fills Catra’s vision.

Her mind reels, eyes going wide as the aftereffects of her powers sear her throat and leak blood from her nose. What was she looking at?

“I have a monster of my own.” 

Shadow Weaver turns to face her, keeping Catra caught between her hair and the entity’s impossible mass. No more of it can fit through the rift, but Catra can feel endless power and ancient history pulsing through its grip on her corrupted arm. Five eyes look at her without judgment, while two glare at her blackened skin.

“The Spell of Obtainment was only the beginning. A mere taste. For nearly four decades since I have worked to bring about the All-Eyed One, and, in exchange for my service, they have granted me power beyond comprehension. Today, you bring me one step closer to releasing them. To an eternity of control.”

The Sword of Protection floats above them for only a moment before its holy light is swallowed up by the creature. Catra follows the blue glow through its mass until it fades away. 

The monster withdraws through the rift slowly, tentacles of abstract dark painfully tugging on Catra until it can no longer. It lets go; allowing its essence to be bottled up once more inside of the Black Garnet and sealing the ripped fabric of space behind it.

The air pressure in the room returns to normal and everything gets a little warmer. 

Catra opens her mouth without speaking and then shakes herself back to sobriety. She can’t be certain what just happened, especially with Shadow Weaver’s penchant for illusion magic, but it felt… final, like the very end of all things.

“You see?” Shadow Weaver says. “I can make friends. In fact, I have an appointment to keep with some old ones.” She laughs. “So let us finish this.”

She holds Catra’s cheek and the corruption starts peeling away from her face. It chars her skin until a radiation burn flares up across the side of her face. She sees sticky tar-blood come away with Shadow Weaver’s hand and hears her own screams as if far-off, muted by magical means but rebounding off every wall and finding their way back to her ears, which are twisting around in a panic. When it is over, tears cool her melted cheek.

“Nearly done,” Shadow Weaver croons, rubbing the corruption between her fingers. “Would you believe me if I said you look worse without it?” 

She laughs again, and Catra is ready for it to be over. 

She had a good run, and while she would’ve picked getting fucked into oblivion by her perpetually-angry ex she thinks this is more like what she deserves. She wishes it didn’t hurt so much, and that it wasn’t  _ her _ , but then she never did get what she wanted. Why should the end be any different? 

Shadow Weaver keeps a grip on her arm as she siphons more power. Catra’s legs flail and the tendons in her calves lock up: corruption in her legs pools from her feet and onto the floor. It moves into Shadow Weaver’s aura, which turns pitch-black. Her red cloak billows behind her before getting wrapped in shards that form spiderwebs all over her robes. 

“No snarky prattle, Force Captain?” 

Catra says nothing, looking at her own feet and twiddling her toes. They’re all cleared up, fresh and furry and desperately in need of a bath. The blood from her nose trickles down her neck and she swallows, before shaking her head. Only her arm left and then, she guesses, she’ll be gone. 

_ Fine _ . 

She didn’t belong here anyway. The universe would right itself. She’s sure Shadow Weaver would enjoy tormenting the many Catras of the multiverse as she had with Adora and her friends. Etheria keeps on turning with or without her, and it never liked her to begin with.

“So be it.” 

Fingers dig into her arm for the final time. It feels like Catra’s hand is about to fall off. Corruption and blood pour through her jet-black nails and into Shadow Weaver’s grey fingertips. She grows dizzy, and then faint... 

She falls to the ground. An excruciating screech rips free of Shadow Weaver’s throat.

Catra wants to embrace the dark, to go flat on comfortable cool tiles and be free. But god if the sound of Shadow Weaver in pain didn’t spark adrenaline through her veins, didn’t kiss life back into her very soul.

he looks up and finds the sorceress facing away from her, doubled over in pain, blood pouring down her robes from a four-pronged gash along her back.

Further in the chambers, high up and clinging to the shadows--as if to mock her very namesake--Imp perches from a ventilation duct with her mask clutched in his hands. His topaz eyes glint sly in the darkness. He cackles in Hordak’s voice, a lifelong grudge, a duty, soon to be fulfilled. 

“ _ You little shit, _ ” Shadow Weaver clutches her face and points her other hand towards him. 

She draws a quick rune in the air, jagged and unfocused, resulting in an arcing bolt of violent energy that Imp easily dodges on swift bat-wings. He attempts to dive-bomb her but she melts into shadow before he connects and he ends up gliding over Catra’s head with a sneer. 

Shadow Weaver reforms her shape out of shadows gathered from every corner in the room. She faces Catra, now, who finds her exposed visage  _ far  _ worse than she remembers. 

Teeth, misaligned and predatory, circle her gaping maw. They are huge, sharp and wholly unnatural. Her mouth cannot close properly and so her tongue can be seen swaying from behind the gaps in her front teeth. She salivates and grins upon noticing Catra’s horror.

“A small price to pay for power, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Imp comes at Shadow Weaver again and this time she stands her ground. Imp hits her - dead on! - and lodges claws in her face. Catra scrambles onto her elbows and cheers the feral little bastard on and - 

The scene stops. Catra has to clear her eyes, to blink, and then she realizes what’s happening. It’s more than an illusion. It’s a probability that must be witnessed before it can be altered in Shadow Weaver’s favor. She’s figured it out.  _ Time _ catches up with Catra and dread settles in as their new reality manifests: Shadow Weaver holds up Imp by the throat.

“_Catra,_ _I…”_ Shadow Weaver gasps, inspired. She takes her mask back from tiny savage hands. Imp goes a shade bluer as he tries to fight her off, but his struggle is in vain. “I didn’t know… what a _rush_…” 

She dons her mask once again, and it glows. The Black Garnet hungers in response. Shadow Weaver squeezes the child's throat.

Imp spits at her and she tosses him towards the profane runestone. In a bloody flash of light, the rift opens and Imp is devoured by the monster within. The light from the gem in her mask dies back down, and the rift closes with a bang.

Shadow Weaver takes off her mask once more, admiring her work, as well as the fresh spider-netting over her spindly fingers.

“I almost hesitate to say it but… I am proud of you, Catra. What it must have taken to have garnered abilities such as these...” 

Catra clenches her fists. Shadow Weaver didn’t know shit. Catra doesn't want her praise. She deserved to die. They both did, but she’s going to kill her first, somehow, for everything and everyone because the multiverse wasn’t big enough for the both of them. 

She falls to her shoulder, disoriented, and sees She-Ra stirring. The princess rolls her shoulder and finds her feet. She looks at her hands before rubbing her head. Taking in her surroundings with utter confusion, faint traces of recognition spark, half-acknowledged, as her bloodshot eyes pass over Catra, and then the witch.

“Perhaps…” Shadow Weaver considers, taking a step towards the warrior. “Perhaps I should reward you, after all.” She touches She-Ra’s face, who looks grossed out by the toothy monster coming on to her. Then, Shadow Weaver looks at Catra.

“Is she not what you have always wanted?” 

Catra watches, giving away nothing of the ache within her heart. What she wants to believe is going to happen is too good to be true. Gifts from Shadow Weaver were not to be trusted. Hope was not to be fostered, for it always led to a more harrowing ruin. And still, she nods. 

What a fool she is.

“She-Ra,” Shadow Weaver says softly. “With this last order, your time serving me will have come to an end. I thank you. Transform.”

Shadow Weaver approaches the Black Garnet and draws a rune in front of it. The ground rumbles and the runestone disappears in a crack of thunder. She angles one towards the ground and steps into it, teleporting herself in the same manner without a look back.

The air grows even warmer as she disappears, but Catra finds herself still frozen in place. 

She-Ra’s eyes turn steel-blue. 

Her hair changes from a golden waterfall into a dirty blonde ponytail. Her chiseled jawline wanes and her muscles diminish. A red jacket replaces her white-gold garb and Catra recognizes scars across her best friend’s chin. 

Adora sees Catra. Catra starts crying and holds out a weak hand towards her.

Adora mouths her name and her brow creases. She remembers her, and Catra hates it. 

Anger overtakes her, and then sheer anguish. Decades of untamed hatred assault her body and she shrivels up in response. Her eyes roll and she falls unconscious. Catra rushes over on numb legs and falls by her side.

She shakes, hyperventilates, and is disgusted with herself for pretending to care. What right did she have, what possible comfort could she offer... after what she had done, after what  _ they  _ had done...

She keeps Adora’s head from hitting the floor. 

Catra flickers, with only a hand’s worth of corruption to keep her alive, and so badly needs to rest. She holds a hand in front of Adora’s tired face and finds she still breathes. This allows Catra to. 

It hurts to swallow. It hurts to sit. She wants to touch her cheek but her hands are bloody. 

She watches her sleep, and its all the rest she needs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If we could all pretend this went up on Halloween like I intended that’d be great. I’ll start, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! 🎃💀👻🕷
> 
> With this chapter, we’re roughly halfway through the main story and GOD I NEED TO WRITE SOME FLUFF bc all this angst is so draining. And with season 4 about to drop, I’d love to scream at/with you all so if anyone wants to hit me up/send me prompts on Tumblr @hemogobbler69! 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and I’LL SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE! GOOD LUCK EVERYONE! <3


	9. Awaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra starts again. Adora struggles on.

Queen Angella approaches. 

She carries with her none of the apprehension one might expect from a victim of Catra’s horrible decisions. Her stride is almost intimidating, but her face, mature and composed in the way only a royal can pull off, offers lucidity amidst a wholly surreal reality.

Aftershocks from the portal disaster, images of a hungry, blood-red gateway flicker behind the queen’s noble silhouette. She joins her index fingers and thumbs into a diamond, restoring some of Catra’s sanity with a simple light spell that illuminates an endless white hallway and dispels the dark visions.

The queen stands taller without a throne; pale, ephemeral pink wings neatly folded behind her and a slight smile on her face. White gems at her neck, ears and forehead sparkle with centuries of wisdom. Catra likes the wavy shape of her long pink hair, and finds that Horde propaganda didn’t do her justice - up close she’s pretty, and too graceful for fangs.

Softly, her eyebrows raise when she discovers the full extent of Catra’s injuries, and an elegant, white-gloved hand stretches towards her. Catra takes a step back and balls her fists up, to which Angella nods.

Memories suddenly circle Catra on shards of glass that reform into pictures; fleeting moments of genuine happiness. Meeting Adora for the first time, her constant light keeping the dark away through games of tag and the gift of safe sleep. Trading secrets and training each other to achieve their shared dreams… even further along, when it was more than just sparring.

The sheer joy of simply seeing her again! That very same offer of hope that Catra always grew indignant at; that she swallowed and let be carried away by fight-or-flight adrenaline. Moments that made her life worth living; she sees them all again through a storybook of memories that make the hallway feel a lot less empty.

She stands straight as Angella steps closer and rests her hand on her shoulder, but her tension melts away as she looks up into her eyes. They are kind, and Catra finds herself craving their attention. There are no misgivings to her touch - it is a pure connection, and it is divine.

“Help…?” Catra needs to say something.

Angella’s hand moves to her cheek and Catra gasps, flinching, at first. But the queen’s hand is gentle like none she’s ever felt. Catra relaxes into it and a shiver tickles her spine. When the hand comes away, so do trails of sticky black corruption, clinging to Angella’s slender fingertips like tar to a ballet dancer’s legs.

Catra’s eyes go wide but Angella’s remain sympathetic, her smile going sad as she washes the tar away in light and cups her cheek again without pause. Her thumb catches a tear and Catra wants to stay here forever. 

“Don’t give in, Catra. You are strong enough to make incredible changes.” 

Angella’s voice is firm but her hands are so soft. They bring Catra’s head close and it feels like she’s finally stopped shaking as they breathe together. Lips touch her forehead in a small, powerful shape of love. Catra falls through her embrace. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Catra wakes up. 

Slowly, at first, and then, upon remembering the fight with Shadow Weaver, fast as her muddled mind can manage. There’s no life in her for shame or regrets. Not even anger - nothing can penetrate the wall. Her movements are cumbersome, delayed. There is a weight to her now, where once she felt almost immaterial. 

She finds herself lying on a table in the medical ward, preserved in a cold and sterile lab that seemed to encourage death rather than keep it away. Surgical tools glisten under dim light and medicinal cabinets sit upturned, ransacked. It smells like a mop bucket filled with cleaning chemicals--Catra’s hit by an image--amputated limbs corroding in vats, others kept, pristine, in the name of science, and she keeps her eyes shut.

The right side of her face burns; she reaches up to touch it and - yep - there’s definitely some missing. A thin, dusty layer of blood comes away with her finger and she winces when she moves her tongue to test the inside of her cheek. It’s tender: the flesh is thin but clean. Her legs are asleep after their purification, as is her right arm, while only her right hand remains black. 

A sliding grey door opens and there she is, Adora. 

Catra isn’t ready, she never is, for what seeing her does. It’s unrelenting, the heartbreak all over again, the broken promise that unleashes a wildfire inside. It smothers her in a horrible, burning madness that she can feel overcoming her, taking her senses away and replacing her with someone else. Adora watches her fight herself, expressionless.

She’s tired-eyed and gaunt, but she wears the look better than Catra ever did. She supposes that’s the hero thing. Her blonde hair is loose and frayed, hanging messily around her shoulders. She pauses at the entrance, a little white box in her hands, while Catra’s brain continues going haywire. Her breathing is rapid and her claws come out on instinct but she hides them in her lap. 

Neither says anything, which Catra is thankful for, and Adora approaches quickly. Catra barely has the strength to shuffle back on the metal bed but she makes an effort. Adora struggles to meet her eyes until she’s close enough to grab her arm and keep her in place. 

“Stop,” She says, opening the box and taking out the bandage within. 

Catra searches Adora’s face for the hatred she must surely harbor. There’s little of anything to be found, which hurts more. She does as she’s told, imagining what must be going through Adora’s head: the truth of their infinitely violent pasts, here in this intimate space together, and Catra looks down at her knees.

She gasps quietly as her chin is tilted upwards. Adora laces the bandage across the right side of her face. Catra always skipped first-aid lessons. Adora looks uncomfortable, her eyes bloodshot blue, and Catra realizes the bandage is probably more for her: Catra must look like a zombie beneath the white lining. There’s a cracked mirror on the side but she doesn’t want to ask anything of her. 

Adora cuts the bandage clean and takes a deep breath.

“You’re welcome.” 

“I - I…” 

Adora walks away. Catra’s stomach drops like it’s the very first time. 

She watches Adora sling a heavy duffle bag over her shoulder, solid gear and essentials - stuff that recon units would use for long-range operations demanding deep cover, before heading for the door. 

“Adora!” Catra whines, Adora waits. The parts they play. “Where--where are you going?!” 

“Gonna kill her.” Adora’s is quiet, at first. She says the words again with harder edges. “I’m going to kill her.”

Her voice ends up hurt, coming though torn up by years of screaming, and settles in a profound sadness that puts Catra’s heart in ice. She had earned this punishment, but not Adora. She wants to reach out but finds the space between them - the damage done - too much to bear.

Still, it’s endearing; this scrap of conversation, the other side of so much suffering. It’s… relieving? They’re alive, and until now that didn’t matter to Catra. Only Adora could’ve come out on the other side of this insanity unbroken. Finger guns at the ready, a plan already in action after fifty harrowing years of blood sport for Shadow Weaver and her gross pet. 

Fuck, Adora was stupid. Life surges through Catra’s veins once more.

“WHAT the FUCK do you mean you’re ‘ _ GONNA KILL HER _ ’? You saw that thing she had, right?! HER PET, THE WORLD-EATING MONSTROSITY?” 

Catra falls into a coughing fit - shouting through perforated lungs. She wheezes and Adora looks at her, downcast. So stoic, so sure of herself.

“Catra.” 

Adora waits for her to catch her breath and holds her arms together.

“Just stop. There’s  _ nothing  _ left. I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but I figure you know why Shadow Weaver can’t win. So I’m finishing this, for everyone. And if I survive, it’ll only be a drop compared to the ocean of blood that’s followed me ever since I became She-Ra. But... it’s the only thing I can do, so I’m doing it.”

“You know me.  _ You know me _ . Don’t pretend like this isn’t happening ‘cos you don’t like it. Don’t  _ pretend  _ like ‘oh, well  _ my  _ Catra would’ve never FUCKED UP THE UNIVERSE!’ Turns out you’re not the only one with a destiny, huh, Adora?”

“YOU are NOT CATRA. What I’ve seen you do to innocent people? What you did - “ Adora stutters, she clenches her fists. “What you did to She-Ra,  _ to me _ ?” 

Catra can’t respond. That wasn’t--this wasn’t supposed to happen. She grits her teeth instead, her claws go in, and she doesn’t meet Adora’s eyes. Adora scoffs and frees the tension from her hands. She addresses Catra with thinly-veiled hatred, a finger prodding her shoulder.

“I would’ve never let her fall so far.”

“Yeah, well, looks like you did. Live with it.”

Adora makes a move to leave and Catra’s suddenly up from the table, wobbling on weak legs, berating her once more. This isn’t over. Catra isn’t going to let her do this. She hobbles up behind Adora and shouts in her ears.

“WHERE ARE YOU GOING? WHAT, DID YOU FORGET SHE TELEPORTED? Are you gonna use your sword to kill dozens of _constantly-reanimating_ _robots _outside or - _OH, WAIT_ \- I forgot, SHADOW WEAVER ALSO HAS YOUR SWORD! Well, psh, whatever! I’m sure with your head held high and your gray ration bars you’ll totally be able to save the day because you’re a _HERO_!”

Adora pushes her shoulder and trips her up with a foot behind her ankle. All her bones rock in pain as her breath vacates her body in a rush. Catra looks up at Adora, and, from this angle, she looks terrifying. Her nostrils are flared and there are red flecks in her irises staring down at her. They are familiar eyes, pulled wide by undying rage. 

Adora takes a second and slow, measured breaths; the anger subsides.

“Stay out of my way. Get some rest. I don’t care. It’ll all be over soon, one way or another.”

Before Adora can escape her view, Catra yells:

“NO!” 

She shoots her black hand out and tries to blink forward, even a foot, but her powers are gone. Her hand seizes up and it feels like her finger-bones are being pulled apart. Her stomach rises, and she falls to her knuckles, dry-heaving. 

“FUCK! You can’t--you can’t leave me here, Adora. Not  _ here _ , not again.”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Go along with whatever you say every time you decide to bring up the past? No, Catra, this is on you. Until you realize that...”

“Shadow Weaver brought you back for me!” Catra snarls, clutching her chest as she stands. “I  _ saved  _ you… I - I looked out for you in the woods, when everyone else called you a monster, I was there!” 

“I AM A MONSTER! And - and you _l_ _ ooked out for me? _ ” Adora is in her face now, Catra backs up. She doesn’t want to fight: she needs her. “That’s what you call it?

“You can’t go, Adora. I can’t fight. The bots'll get me sooner or later, I’ll die here and it’ll be on you.”

Adora runs a hand through her hair. She covers her eyes for a moment and breathes. Her lower lip shakes and she bites it. She swallows and looks into Catra’s eyes. Catra doesn’t hide her regret, but she doesn’t advertise it either. She blinks slowly, hopefully.

“Adora. I want to help.” 

“No, you don’t. This has all been a game to you until now. Why should I believe you’ve finally grown a conscience?” 

“Because if there’s one person that pisses me off more than you do, it’s Shadow Weaver. She’s fucked us both. I’ve got nothing left. No other reason. So, I’ll… go, once she does.” 

“How brave.” Adora sucks her teeth.

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Adora. In any universe. That’s my thing.” 

Adora pushes her back and Catra nearly loses her balance again.

“You think this is funny?” Tears well in her eyes, her voice breaking. “This some kind of vacation for you? A fun little distraction from wherever the hell you came from? I KILLED MY FRIENDS!” 

Catra’s ears go flat and she lets her scream. Lets her mourn in the only way Horde soldiers knew how: she punches a wall, kicks over trays of medical gear, wails her anguish to the dead halls of an evil home. Adora falls to her knees and bites her hand, keeping her eyes firmly shut as she pounds the floor. 

It reminds Catra of herself, so much so that she finally reaches out. Adora swats her hand away painfully. Her eyes glow red as veins pulse under her skin. Catra understands. Adora rises by herself.

“Please.” Catra says, rubbing her shoulder anxiously. “I know it’s not worth shit but… I’m sorry? I can’t imagine what you - you did, you feel and I know I fucked up, but… I’m gonna do better, while I still can. See this through. Please.”

Adora scans Catra’s face. Analyses her like she’s a stranger. Catra rubs the itchy material covering her eye. Adora squints, sighs, and stops her from fucking up her face any more.

“Shadow Weaver’s going to Mystacor. Some mages have survived. She’s going to use their summoning chamber and the runestones to unleash that thing throughout… everything. All space and time. That means your world, too.”

Catra wants to bad-mouth the witch, see Adora smile again, but she’s made it clear this is suicide. That there is nothing of hope to be salvaged from this world. Plus, Shadow Weaver’s insane plan of mutually-assured destruction reminds her of...

“How do you know all this?” Catra asks. 

“She likes to monologue. She would send me out to… cause problems... test Mystacor’s reaction. They hide, which means they’re still clinging to some kinda power. We need to get there, fast.”

Catra knows it's hopeless. Shadow Weaver’s probably already there, slaughtering the old cowards. Catra tries to resist the urge to make things more depressing but it comes so naturally in the face of Adora’s blind optimism.

“I can barely walk. There are still robots outside. You don’t have a weapon.” 

Adora pulls out and extends a stun baton that she had kept tucked behind her. Smart. Catra wouldn’t trust herself either. It crackles blue and its buzz fills the empty air, the small-talk of soldiers.

“Ol’ reliable,” Catra murmurs, but doesn’t get a smile. “Got one of those for me?” 

“No.”

“Okay.” Catra swallows her first instinct and nods. Adora’s eyebrows shift for a second in surprise and then rest. “And that’s gonna stop the robots how?” 

Adora’s eyes perk up a little: she loves talking strategy. Catra’s the only one who likes hearing it. She remembers plotting against She-Ra based on what she thought Adora would think. She lived in Adora’s head, or Adora lived in hers, it was hard to tell.

“It’s not. No chance. We don’t have the time to fight, anyway. But it might keep us alive while we gun it out of the Fright Zone in a skiff.” 

“And there’s just gonna be a free skiff lying around with its keys in and - ”

Adora jangles a set of sparkly silver keys in front of her. Catra raises an eyebrow, barely containing the urge to bat them around. 

“You were out for a while,” Adora says. “There’s one in the loading bay, stripped of paint but the engine still starts.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” 

Catra feigns excitement and takes labored steps towards the exit. Adora follows behind, for a time, keeping the supplies tight to her plain old shirt. Catra moves slow, blocking Adora’s steps, fighting through the pain as best she can but it feels like her knee is about to pop off. 

Suddenly her arm is around Adora’s broad shoulders and movement is easy again. Adora swivels the bag to her back and uses her height advantage to lift her slightly. As much as Catra hates pity, she appreciates the gesture and doesn’t put much weight on her, tries to take in the boring surroundings instead of the smell of her hair. She showered, the first in fifty years.

They pass through the guts of the base, towards where gasoline met electricity in the mechanists’ haven. The underground garage is mostly empty, which is a shame because Catra would’ve loved a tank. There are disassembled railguns that once belonged to the heavy armor and a million types of nuts and bolts, but nothing they could strap to a skiff. 

By the looks of it, anything that wasn’t bolted down or useless had been taken in the cadets’ revolt. Various types of armor plating sit along the edges of each docking bay, too heavy to abscond with and utterly useless against E.K.S’s or She-Ra anyway. So, when they come to the promised skiff, Catra isn’t surprised it looks like a skeleton.

A pale green ride, its inner workings are as dangerously exposed as the kevlar fiber of its sail. Adora helps Catra onboard and puts the key in the ignition. The engine comes on with a stutter, but the lights all check green, it starts hovering, and it seems like they actually might have a chance.

“Can you drive?” Adora asks, brandishing the stun baton and taking a few practice jabs.

Catra remembers this. Fighting for control over their cocky little joyride and then crashing into the Whispering Woods... and then everything goes to shit. She wonders if Adora is thinking the same.

“If you’ll let me.” 

“All yours.” 

Adora presses a switch dangling from the roll cage surrounding the docking bay. It lifts the containment, and then the garage door that leads to a winding path upwards to the outside. It’s light out, and the smell of fresh air is wonderful. She can hear drones beeping, performing scans, following orders till the end and onwards. Anywhere was better than here.

Catra looks at Adora for confirmation. She's focus and bravery, nodding wearily and unable to remove the daggers from her eyes; Catra starts the climb. 


End file.
